Family Portrait
by Galaxia Alpha
Summary: Six years after Meteor the world is still broken, plagued by mako addiction and memories of the past. On the outskirts of civilization the remnants of SOLDIER are uniting, and Cloud and Denzel must learn the meaning of family to survive. CloTi. Winner of a 2008 Genesis Award (Action/Adventure Category).
1. Family Portrait: Cloud

**Disclaimer:** Characters not mine. Unless they're originals. Then they're mine.

**Rating: **PG-13 (there will be some drug references coming)

**Continuity: **Breaks off from continuity right after Advent Children and takes place 4 years later.

**Pairing:** Cloud and Tifa are married, so obviously CloTi. A little Tseng and Elena later.

**Summary:** Six years after Meteor and the world is still broken, plagued by mako addiction and memories of the past. On the outskirts of civilization, the remnants of SOLDIER are uniting, and Cloud and Denzel must learn the meaning of family to survive.

**Notes: **This story is based on the original game, Advent Children, Case of Tifa (from the Compilation) and Case of Denzel (from the Compilation). It is NOT based on DoC or Before Crisis, so if what I create in this story differs from what happens in those two games, please don't be surprised.

**Feedback:** Give me critique and I'll give you better stories. Thanks!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**Part 1: Family Portrait -- Cloud **

Sometimes, when he first wakes up to the siren-call slap of his alarm, he forgets who he is. Then, he opens his eyes and sees the family portrait in a stand-up frame beside his bed, and he remembers. That picture is four years old now, taken right after Denzel was healed of geostigma.

His eyelids fall closed again and the smiling faces of Tifa, Marlene, Denzel, and himself disappear from view. He'd gotten in late last night, or early this morning rather, and on days like this, there is only one way to get out of bed. He breathes in deeply one last time and takes just a moment more to enjoy the feel of the lithe body tucked in his arms, before he gently unwraps himself from her and rolls away. He keeps rolling until he falls off the bed, body thumping heavily against the floor.

The first few times he woke himself up this way, Tifa nearly had a heart attack, but after almost two years of marriage, he thinks she may finally be used to it. He hears something fall gently to the floor beside him, and then something warm is pressing against his side. Or maybe not.

He opens one eye just enough to see the top of her head, dark brown hair glistening in the clean morning light that floods through their window. "Tifa?" he says gently.

She mumbles incoherently in response and then snuggles her nose into his arm until he lifts it so that she can press closer against him, her head cradled against his shoulder and his hand resting on her back.

"You're on the floor," he says, wondering if she's even awake enough to realize this.

"Mmm… oops. So're you."

She throws an arm across his chest possessively, and he tightens his hold on her without really meaning to. "You're not helping my cause any," he comments mildly. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice rattles off a list of deliveries he has to make today. He sighs and clobbers the little voice. It shuts up abruptly.

"I didn't get to see you last night. I fell asleep before you came in. It was so late."

He ignores the underlying question of _why_ he got back so late, and says instead, "You see me now."

She shakes her head against his side, the strands of her hair tickling his arm. "Nooo, I don't. I haven't opened my eyes yet." Her voice is soft and sing-song like. It makes him think of sunlight and birds chirping and rolling green fields.

Well, there's not much he can say to that, or wants to for that matter, so he lets himself lay there, Tifa's body warming him against the cold wood of the floor. He thinks he might fall asleep again, but his eyes are open and he's staring at the white paint of the ceiling, trying to draw pictures in the shadows the sun casts through the curtains.

"You're brooding."

He blinks, surprised. "No, I'm not."

Tifa shifts a little next to him, still looking like she's trying to sleep. "Cloud Strife, I know when you're brooding. I've seen it often enough."

"Your eyes are still closed, remember?"

"Doesn't matter. I can feel it."

He doesn't say anything, not really sure what he should say but not worried about that either. She'll guide him with her questions. She always does. So he waits, still and tense, listening for the sounds of Denzel and Marlene waking up in the next rooms. His thoughts turn more towards Denzel and he tilts his head a little to the left, thinking about the 14-year-old boy lying in his old room under plaid sheets, a wild mess of brown hair thrown across the pillow.

"What is it, Cloud?" She's finally opened her eyes and she rolls over, the top half of her body on his chest, elbows pressing gently against his ribs, so she can look at him. He follows the line of her hair around her cheeks to her eyes. They look glassy, the amber color luminescent.

"Just thinking about Denzel." After two years of marriage he isn't any better at explaining things to her, and his voice comes out a little hesitant because he's not sure what he's going to say next.

"About that summer camp he wants to go to?" She moves her arms to make a pillow for herself with her hands, resting her chin on the laced fingers.

"Yeah. I looked into it some yesterday. That's why I was so late." He closes his eyes, remembers the headquarters building of Holding Hands International – a network of steel and glass and polished floors. "I spoke to the camp coordinator…" A burly man with a long red beard and curly hair that stood out against ash-white skin. He held a cigarette constantly, and as he spoke, little gray streamers of smoke whipped out of his mouth. "I didn't like him."

"That's it?"

He opens his eyes to glance at her, confusion scrunching his features. "What else is there?"

"Cloud…" she drawls out, lifting her head so she can slap his chest playfully. "Denzel really wants to go, and it doesn't sound too bad. They're supposed to spend the summer doing community service, and Denzel doesn't have many friends… This could be good for him, you know."

He sighs, feeling the air seep out from deep in his lungs. He's not really sure why he's resisting so much, why the thought of sending Denzel away for a month gathers up in his throat and sits there, tight and uncomfortable. Eyes up at the ceiling again, he tries to remember himself at Denzel's age. _I was obsessed with being in SOLDIER. This is far less dangerous._ "Okay," he says abruptly.

She blinks at him, and the flutter of her eyelashes makes him think of butterfly wings. "Okay?"

"Yeah… but let me tell him, okay?"

She smiles slowly. "Okay." She yawns then, pushing herself off his chest so that she is sitting next to him. Her arms reach over her head, palms pressing upward. "I should go make breakfast. They'll be awake soon." Her tone is light and airy and sounds slightly triumphant.

He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. "Denzel sent you to convince me, didn't he?"

"What makes you think that, love?" She kisses him lightly on the cheek and then stands, an impish smirk on her face as she scampers out of the room.

It takes him a few minutes to finally get up off the floor, but he finds himself sitting on the bed instead of walking to the closet to get dressed. The family portrait sits on the nightstand and he takes it in his hands, studying the smile on Denzel's face, a frozen laugh lifting the boy's cheeks.

Why does he feel so scared?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


	2. Family Portrait: Ren

A/N: So here I am, writing another chapter. The ideas for this story just kept haunting me. It looks like I'm in for the long haul, and after plotting it out, it will be a looong haul.

I have to apologize. The first chapter of this story is a product of pure laziness. It isn't as polished or developed as it should be. There really isn't any excuse for that, except my uncertainty at the time with whether on not I'd continue writing this. Still, I shouldn't have posted it until I was sure. Sorry again. I'm probably going to go back and rewrite that one some.

Anyway, without further delay, here is part 2. I don't own FF7, but Ren Akabori is all mine—every last neurotic bit of him.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Part 2: Family Portrait – Ren**

When the first reactor blew in Midgar, Ren Akabori ran, just like everyone else. He hid in his apartment and waited for the news reports to come in, and when he finally heard that the attack had been waged by a terrorist group named Avalanche, and that among the members was a former SOLDIER, he hoped. He thought of his brother and he hoped, after promising himself two years ago that he wouldn't hope anymore.

He hoped until he saw the first news footage, captured by Shinra surveillance cameras, and he realized the hair of the man wearing the purple and blue SOLDIER uniform was blond instead of black.

When sector seven collapsed, with a crash so loud that it was days before he could hear correctly again, he realized that hope on its own was foolish. He forced himself to go there, even though the dust in the air was still so thick he could barely see. In the end, he was glad he could barely see.

That's when he finally understood. He remembered his brother's parting words as he left for the military, "Renny, I just can't sit around and wait my whole life for someone else to be the hero. I'm gonna do it myself, and I'm gonna have a hell of a good time with it too." It hadn't made sense to him then. Years later, when they told him his brother was missing and to expect the worst, it still hadn't made sense.

But there, standing on a pile of debris painted gray with ash, that could have been bodies or could have been steel, he understood.

He finally understood.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Ren glares down at the book in front of him, eyes wet and glistening because he's forgotten to blink for so long. His shoulders are hunched forward tightly, his neck jutting outward at a right angle from them, white elbows pressed harshly against the enamel of the desk. He's holding a pen in one hand and the tendons of in his wrist and fingers pop upward alternatively under the thin layer of his skin as he flips the writing utensil over and over and over, incessantly.

A long stream of air seeps out from his lungs and he mutters, yet again, "So young."

Forming a sharp "V" in the creases of his brow, he squints at the picture of the young boy—narrow face, sapphire eyes, unruly bleach-blond hair jutting out rebelliously, the soft rounded lines of a child's cheeks. "So young. Did it really start this young for you Zack?" He shakes his head in an abrupt, curt motion, remembering his brother's last words that day he boarded the bus for Shinra headquarters to start a career with SOLDIER. Zack had only been fifteen.

Another long sigh, and his thin-lined voice fills the air again, "It did, didn't it? You knew even when you were only a child what you would be. And he knew too. It's in those eyes, the way the shadows fall across them, the way the youth stops at the black of his pupils." He drops the pen suddenly, sliding his hands with the screeching of sweat across the desk to cup the edges of the book. The picture is old. Ten years, two Sephiroths, the fall of Shinra, and countless civilian deaths old. The image was taken when the boy first entered the military, but the boy is a man now.

_Cloud Strife._ The name rolls through his head like tumbleweed, prickling his thoughts and repeating itself again and again and again, incessantly. _Cloud Strife. Cloud Strife. Cloud Strife._

The man had been here yesterday. Ren had watched through the surveillance cameras, enraptured with the image of the blond, tall and muscular and clad in black leather, but with a gentle shading around the eyes and the mouth that made the hard depth of his glaze and the stiff set of his jaw so much more obvious. So, this was the face of a hero. When he entered a room, everyone turned to look, and when he walked the sound of his heavy boots against the floor and the large sword holster slapping against his back set the pace of every conversation around him.

_Cloud Strife. Cloud Strife. Cloud Strife._

He wonders, did Zack command a room like that once? When he walked by with his ridiculous black spikes and that roguish smirk on his face, did people stop and stare? Did every turn of his heel, every twist of his wrist, every flex of a muscles drip intensity and formidability that stained the skin of anyone close enough to catch the shifting of the air as he passed? Did every mako-eyed look scream "hero"?

_Cloud Strife. Cloud Strife. Cloud Strife._

He throws himself back in the chair, thrusting it out from under him and standing in a stream of jerky swift movements that don't quite connect right. A hand taps in an endless rhythm against his thigh as he walks over to the picture window on one wall of his office. The distant gleam of Midgar climbs up over the green hills in the afternoon sun. It is still a cluster of mostly smaller buildings but there are a few, a few that reach toward the sky, a few that refuse to remember the plates that once sealed them into the lower levels of the slums. They're building a new world. Everyone is building a new world. He glances at the logo of Holding Hands International, hanging in a frame behind his desk. It's a stylized knot of hands outlined in dark green. _We're_ _building a new world._

New worlds need heroes to protect them. Hand pressed against the window glass, he looks back out at the city of Midgar, rocking his jaw back and forth with a clicking noise as he thinks about the rising crime rate, the homeless living on the streets, the recent upward trend of gang involvement among the youth. He remembers Zack's parting words. "_Renny, I just can't sit around and wait my whole life for someone else to be the hero."_

_Can't_ _wait. Can't wait. Can't wait._

He won't wait. The world needs someone to protect them. The world needs more than just Cloud Strife and the other members of Avalanche who are scattered across the continents living their own lives. It needs youths with that certain mix of shadow and gleam in their eyes, ones who will dedicate themselves to something bigger, something greater. People like Zack used to be. People like Cloud Strife.

Ren forces the thin, compressed lines of his mouth into a jagged smile, a hand running over his slicked-back black hair and slipping down to grab onto the back of his neck and wait there, pressing into the tense muscles. His body is a cluster of angles, oddly put together, the lines of his pants and his button-up shirt over his frame seeming unnatural and misplaced. Ren has known since he was a boy that he was no hero, just like Zack always knew he was.

No, he is no Cloud Stife. But he doesn't need to be. That's not his goal.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"Will it work?" Ren squints at the red-haired scientist with granite-blue eyes.

Jenkins smirks, widening his face with the puff of his cheeks and holds up the syringe of glowing green liquid. "Of course, man. Ya didn't hire me to dope this up."

"Obviously. But I like it confirmed. And there will be no side effects until we've had a chance to give several injections? The enhancements will be sufficiently delayed?"

Jenkins rolls his eyes and puts the syringe down on a metal lab bench. "Yes, yes, yes. Look Ren, this isn't exactly new technology. Shinra did a lot of research into this back in the day." Jenkins sits heavily on a stool, reaches in the pocket of his white lab coat, and pulls out a cigarette. The lab is a mess of papers scattered about across various chairs and tables. A stack of cages lines one off-white wall with a mix of birds and lizards and other small animals, every one different but every one the same because their eyes all grow with a greenish-blue hue.

"You need to clean this lab."

"You know, you say that every time you come down here."

Ren shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from straightening the pile of folders cascading across the table beside him. "It's still true. Please clean this lab now."

Jenkins waves a dismissive hand, cigarette imitating the gesture between his thick lips. "Sure, boss. So when do you want to start? I'm ready to shoot them up whenever."

"As soon as they arrive. It will be a few days. And Jenkins, try not to take this so casually."

Jenkins shrugs, smoke billowing out of his mouth and draping the red of his mustache.

Ren doesn't see it because he is turning and walking out the door with measured, mechanically precise steps, his fingers jittering a rapid beat against his leg. At the doorway he pauses, white knuckled hand clutching the doorframe and his mind rolling: _Cloud Strife. Can't wait. Cloud Strife. Can't wait. Cloud Strife. Can't wait._

"Remember why we're here, Jenkins. We're building a better world."

He takes a steady breath for effect, counting out the seconds before he finally finishes:

"We're making heroes."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Sometimes, when the sun falls below the horizon at night and he can only see the few dim lights of Midgar out his office window, Ren forgets for a moment what he is doing. It's a strange feeling and it always comes on suddenly, like he's pulled the fabric of his purpose so taunt that it starts to unravel. His hands fall limp against his sides and he doesn't move, blinking and feeling distinctly like he has just dropped a puzzle on the floor and is staring at all the pieces, unsure of where to begin.

After years of learning about the quirks of his personality, he has come to recognize these as symptoms of exhaustion, and he has learned to walk stiffly over to his desk, pull open the top draw, and clasp the picture frame inside with numb hands.

The picture is of his family. Mother, father, sister, brother, himself. He is only a toddler in the picture, taken before his sister was killed by a monster while she was playing at the city fringes with some friends. At one time, he had thought that was the reason Zack decided to become what he did. He thought the hero instinct was born of their tragedy. But after sector seven was destroyed, he took out this picture and he looked closer. He stared at it for hours, unable to ignore the ghosting of hard lines in his brother's features, the intensity in the way the mouth turned up at the edges and in the way the brows arched and in the way the eyes gleamed. It was something he'd never noticed before.

It was a revelation for him: Zack was born with the desire to save the world. He was born with dreams of something bigger.

It gives Ren strength to see that. He won't call it hope. It's something too tangible to be called that. Maybe he'll call it passion or maybe he'll call it inspiration.

Or maybe he'll call it family. His brother's legacy leading him on, encouraging him to spread his hands out to the rest of the world. He turns back to the window and holds the picture up, next to the lights of Midgar. It belongs like that, with his siblings and his parents and himself next to all the people that live behind those lights. Zack had understood this long before he had, but he'd learned. It had taken the near destruction of the planet but now he finally got it.

The lights of Midgar and the rest of the world next to his own flesh and blood.

This was their family portrait.

_End Part 2_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: I'm really enjoying writing Ren. As I develop the story, I'll explore more of what he thinks about SOLDIER and Shinra and what happened to Zack. You'll be seeing a lot of him because he will be one of the main characters. But don't worry, there will be plenty of Cloud too.

Pretty please leave me constructive criticism. I'm experimenting with some things while writing this, so I'd really appreciate some feedback. Thanks for reviewing!

The next chapter will bounce back to Cloud. Stay tuned.


	3. Wandering Wolf

A/N: Alright, I'm really getting into this now. That's all I have to say. Oh, and thanks for the reviews!

**Family Portrait: Part 3 – Wandering Wolf**

Cloud pauses at the bedroom door, black-gloved hand resting on the knob, glaring at the dark wood. It's already getting late but he willing to delay work just a little longer. He's listening, head tilted slightly to the side. There's a smirk on his lips. He can't help it.

_I know you're there,_ he thinks. He waits, and finally hears the slightest shuffling outside in the hallway. A silent countdown initiates in his mind, and then he swings the door open as swiftly as he can manage without ripping the hinges off the frame.

A ball of brown hair, baggy clothes, and long limbs catapults itself into Cloud's arms. Cloud stumbles backwards even though he's ready for it, barely managing not to fall. Denzel isn't exactly small anymore… In fact, the boy is a friggin' giant for his age. Fourteen, and already he comes up to Cloud's shoulders. At fourteen, Cloud was staring at people's belts and was using upper cuts for stomach shots when he fought the older kids. Denzel is also strong for his age, but that's Cloud's own fault for teaching him how to carry a sword.

The ball of Denzel unravels itself in his arms, planting its feet on his chest and pushing off. Denzel tumbles away without even a hint of grace and lands on his butt. He shakes his disheveled hair out of his face and looks up at Cloud with blue-sky eyes. "Gotchya," he says smiling.

"You haven't gotten me unless you knock me over."

Denzel's face scrunches up, his smile shaded with mischievousness. "Fine." He says it like this isn't an exchange they have several times a week. Hopping to his feet with cocky vigor, he runs toward Cloud again, a lanky arm swinging toward Cloud's stomach.

Cloud catches the hand easily and Denzel tries to use the distraction to swing a leg behind Cloud's knees and knock him off-balance, but Cloud jumps to the side, bending forward at the same time so he can grab Denzel's ankles.

Carefully keeping his expression neutral, Cloud regards the boy he is now holding upside-down with two hands (_when did this start requiring _two _hands?)._ Denzel returns the look, proudly defiant with his arms crossed. He's wearing a purple t-shirt and jeans, both of which are loose enough that they are bunching up at his knees and waist. Suddenly, Denzel smiles. "Okay, you win. You can put me down now, Cloud."

"Oh no, I'm not making that mistake again."

"But…"

"Here comes the patented Denzel'I plead innocent' Pout. There's no way I'm going to trust putting you down now."

"Aww, Cloud…"

Cloud swings Denzel's feet upwards and over his shoulder, holding him there by his waist and walking down the hall towards the stairs. Denzel squirms wildly, his protests muffled in the cotton of Cloud's black muscle shirt.

"Cloud?"

The soft voice in his ear halts him. He hears the sudden shift in Denzel's mood and flips the boy over his arm, placing him back on his own feet. Hands on the thin shoulders, Cloud looks down at the mussed brown hair. Little lines of light gold run through it and Cloud remembers the way the Lifestream had woven itself across the planet to stop Meteor. "Yeah?"

Denzel's head comes up slowly. Flipping long bangs away, he says, "Cloud, one day I'm going to be as strong as you, okay?"

Cloud stares down at those eyes, now the color of a moonlit night, dark and hazy, and sees something familiar in them. It has to do with the way the light seems to get captured in the pupils. "Denzel…" _How long have you looked like that? Did I just not notice?_ It's something sickeningly familiar.

Since the experiments ShinRa performed on him in Hojo's lab, Cloud's mind has always been somewhat disjointed. It used to be worse; he used to be confused even about his own identity. Then Tifa had helped him put the plates of memory in order, helped him sort out the past from the present and the real from the imagined, but sometimes, sometimes things still slipped. He slips now, back to a conversation with Zack almost a decade ago…

"What's wrong Cloud?"

The voice pulls Cloud back to the present before he can fall into the past. He looks at Denzel, and then, just like that, it's gone. The usual Denzel returns and he's wearing a lopsided grin like it fits and is rolling his eyes at Cloud's stoic expression.

"Nothing," he responds, forcing a smile on his own lips and shaking his head. Over the last few years, he's gotten close to Denzel, but that doesn't make up for the ten years before he even knew him. How much of Denzel is a stranger?

Cloud lets go of Denzel's shoulders because he can feel the sweat on his palms and reaches up to ruffle the boy's hair. "Nothing wrong at all. But you know, you're already pretty strong."

Denzel laughs. "Not as strong as you, Cloud."

_Strength comes with a price_. "You're strong in different ways. Better ways."

Denzel turns to walk down the stairs, waving over his shoulder. "Whatever you say, Cloud."

Cloud doesn't follow. He's fallen back into a memory.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Cloud can feel it coming on as he pulls Fenrir to a stop in front of 7th Heaven, a "closed" sign already on the door of the bar. It's like thorn bushes have sprouted up in between all his joints and are growing, spreading his bones apart. He stumbles off his bike and pauses for a moment in the dark, wondering if he should wait out here for it to pass or chance trying to make it to his room.

But he knows the decision is made already, was made the moment he cut the engine. It's later than he usually gets home from work, but the sound of his bike is an advertisement to Denzel and Marlene; they might already be looking out the window. They'll be expecting him walk up the front steps of the bar, swing open the door, and yell "Honey, I'm home," just like every night. So he does just that. He breathes slowly and evenly, tenses his muscles to hold himself together, and moves toward the door.

"Honey, I'm home!" He works at making it sound even more corny than usual, just to make sure. It's been a running joke since the day he and Tifa were married, but the kids never seemed to get tired of it.

"Hey Papa/Uncle Cloud!" Denzel and Marlene yell in unison. Again, this is routine, Denzel and Marlene each choosing their own titles for him and silently glaring a challenge at each other from the bar booth where they are doing homework. They'd argued about it once, but that hadn't gone very far because Marlene had Barret to call her father and Denzel…

His thoughts froze as the thorn bushes twisted. What part was he up to? _Oh yeah…_ "Hey…" He walks over to the two, scrambling Denzel's hair with his hand and bending to give Marlene a kiss on the cheek. He looks down at the books and papers spread across the lacquered tabletop and he has to blink because his eyes are burning. "How's the homework going?"

Denzel grunts and Marlene brightly responds that she thinks math is fun.

He's not really listening because the weakness is coming, the shattering of his strength at the points of those hellish thorns.

"I saved you some dinner."

He looks up, seeing Tifa sitting at the bar going through her receipts with a pen in her hand and a calculator in front of her. "You want me to heat it up?" Then her sierra eyes glance up at his and he doesn't need to say a word because she knows. She always knows.

"In a little bit. I want to take a shower first."

She forces a smile on her face, but it creases her features the wrong way, makes her look older than she is. "Okay, Hotshot. Let me go take my clothes out of the bathroom, I think I left them in there earlier."

He wants to smirk. He wants to smirk and make some slightly off-kilter innuendo about how she can leave her clothes wherever she wants, just as long as she leaves them. He would never say all that in front of the kids but he would at least smirk. He can't though. Keeping his back to Denzel and Marlene so they won't notice the wrong curve of his lips, he follows Tifa up the stairs, hardly managing to force the suggestive tone in his voice as he says, "Right behind you, Babe."

They barely make it into the bedroom before he collapses, and they don't make it to the bed itself. He's sinking into her arms as she tries to soften the descend of his heavy weight onto the floor so the noise won't reverberate through the house. "Cloud?" She whispers it with a raw voice, tattered, tattered and windblown and he thinks the color red, like Vincent's cape that night when they stood by the water, talking about forgiven sins. Marlene was there, hiding because Cloud had forgotten who he was—

A gasp of air. Quick and violent. He's on his knees, arms bracing the bend of his body over them. Dragging points of pain everywhere like needles, like—

A needle in his arm, syringe filled with green liquid and Hojo's face, large and smiling behind it. "You're going to be my greatest success, Cloud," he'd said. That was before he was his greatest failure. But that needle had been one, one of many but only one at any given moment and now there are too many, too many at once, everywhere, everywhere, and—

"Tifa…" It's the only name he can find right now. He hears her breathing and feels her hand on his back but he sees only the floor, inches from his face, thin panels of wood over scrap metal that they had salvaged from the ruins of Midgar to build this place. His vision vibrates. _I'm_ _shaking. Please, please let me stop shaking._

Another gasp, but this one blunted, more controlled. The thorn bushes are receding, leaving behind a sick weariness and continued trembling. His lungs struggle for more air and he blinks at the floor. A drop of sweat falls off his nose. "Tifa…"

"Shhh, Cloud. It's okay."

She's got her arms wrapped around him now, like she's trying to hold him still, but she's rocking herself, gently moving back and forth on her knees. He thinks of Marlene and Denzel downstairs, on the other side of the floor, and looks up at Tifa suddenly, hair wet with perspiration and obstructing his vision. "I didn't—"

"No." She shakes her head, closing her eyes and seeming to let some of the tension out with a breath of air. "You never scream."

The pain is almost gone now and his muscles are relaxing without his control, completely fatigued. "I'm sorry, Tifa." He pushes himself back on his knees, bringing the top half of his body upright and opening his arms to her, not having the strength to pull her to him. She comes, clutching him tightly with her head against his chest and still rocking, but the movement is soothing to him and he closes his eyes.

Again, he says, "I'm sorry, Tifa."

"Don't be silly. What have you got to be sorry for?" She's trying so hard to sound nonchalant.

"Sorry you have to worry about me."

"I'd worry about you no matter what. You run around with a sword the size of a house. Who wouldn't?"

"Tifa…"

"I love you, Cloud Strife." She says it a little desperately, and even though he knows she's not about to cry, he hears the vigor of those hidden tears in her words.

"Hey, now…" He strokes her hair with an unsteady hand. "It's not going to get worse very quickly. Mako poisoning is slow."

"Sure," she says. And she pulls away from him, trying to smile. It's hard for him to watch and he wonders if this is what she would have looked like if he'd told her when he had geostigma years ago. Would she have looked at him with that same quiet strength, that same forced optimism, that same fear? He's strong enough to bear it now, but he couldn't have then.

And because he doesn't want to see that look on her face anymore, he hugs her again and kisses the top of her head.

He feels wet and sticky and sore. "I really do need a shower now."

"You can say that again," she mumbles against him.

"What?"

She leans back, and she looks much calmer than before. Her grin is tentative, but real.

He wants to say he's sorry again, but he knows she'll berate him for it. Instead, he says, "Thanks, Tifa."

"Silly man, we're a family. Families take care of each other." She stands slowly, reaching down to offer him a hand. He takes it, not letting her actually support any of his weight, even though his worn muscles barely manage to haul his mass off the floor. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah."

She brushes a strand of blond hair out of his eyes and looks at him a little helplessly, like she's not sure what to do next. Finally, she says, "So… how was work?"

He shrugs. "Delivered packages. Fought a few monsters. Drove around on a cool bike. You?"

"Made drinks. Cleaned tables. Got hit on by some guy."

He clears his throat loudly. "Some _guy_? Am I gonna have to stay home a day and be scary to your patrons?"

She laughs. "No, they still remember the last time. They play nice now. Nothing I can't handle." She flexes her fists for emphasis.

Cloud nods. He loves his wife. "Good."

He turns then to walk toward the bathroom, trying to keep his steps from wobbling, but he stops at the doorway. "I just remembered something…"

"What?"

Immediately, he wishes he hadn't started that sentence, but he has to finish it now, even if the timing is horrible. "Did you know that members of SOLDIER were forced to retire by age thirty?"

She is silent for a moment, then: "Do you think ShinRa knew about the side-effects of mako enhancements?"

"Yeah."

Another pause. When her voice comes again, it is hesitant. "Did you?"

"I think so. I think we all knew. We just didn't talk about it. Didn't matter what rank you were in the military, it was just something you never mentioned." He's leaning heavily against the doorframe, squinting at the past. He was sure Zack had known too. Maybe that's why he had been so eager to live life and so willing to give it up.

"Then why did people do it? Why would people join SOLDIER if they knew what the result would be?"

Cloud shakes his head. "I joined the military because I wanted to be something… special. Someone that meant something. I was tired of people looking down on me. I knew I could die, so mako poisoning seemed irrelevant at the time. I wasn't really thinking that far."

"I tried to stop you…"

He turns halfway around to tilt his head at her quizzically. "You did?"

Her hands come to her hips, fingers pale against the black skirt. "Of course I did. But Cloud, you were so dense sometimes. Don't you remember what I was wearing that time at the well?"

"Turquoise dress, a matching necklace, and white shoes."

She blinks at him and he realizes that he probably answered a little too quickly. Heat flares across his cheeks.

"Cloud," she says slowly. "You like women's clothing way too much."

He catches the reference. "Hey…" He's about to defend himself but something suddenly occurs to him. "Why does what you were wearing matter anyway?"

This time she's the one to blush.

And then he gets it, and he barely holds his laughing in long enough to say, "Wait, were you trying to seduce me into staying?"

The red in her cheeks gets even brighter, her wide eyes only accentuating it. "Cloud! I was a kid! I didn't even know what 'seduce' meant."

He's still chuckling and she's still turning red and he thinks it's wonderful that for once she's the one blushing and not him. So he leaves her there, looking adorably bashful, and continues into the bathroom.

But when the door closes behind him and his laughter subsides, his exhaustion returns. He slides to the floor and sits there, not moving for a very long time.

At least he has memories of a little Tifa in a turquoise dress to make him smile while he waits for his strength to return.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

He should be sleeping. He wants to be sleeping. Sighing, he glances down at Tifa. She's curled up on her side against him, eyes closed and face relaxed. Her pearl earring catches the moonlight cast through the blinds. In the darkness, she looks too soft to be real.

His gaze flickers up to the window above the bed, the blinds segmenting the sky into slats of stars on black. He's thinking about Denzel, about that look in his eyes after their morning wrestling match, and he's thinking of the familiarity of it, but on a different face. On several different faces in fact. Zack, Sephiroth, himself—they'd all shared something that Cloud can't quite name.

"Why are you awake, Cloud?" She halfway opens her eyes and looks sleepily at him, red-wine irises peeking through.

"Thinking."

"Think in your sleep."

She shifts next to him, re-snuggling against his side.

"I haven't spoken to Denzel about that camp yet."

"So do it tomorrow. He's sleeping now. Besides, he asked me about it today and I told him to talk to you but I think he was able to figure out that it's going to be good news."

"So he knows already?"

"Probably."

Quiet returns, her breathing evening out again. He closes his eyes, opens them again, shifts on the bed.

"Cloud!"

"Sorry. Does Denzel ever talk to you about his life before he came to us?"

"Not really. Not for at least a year now. He did a little when we first took him in."

"Tifa… I don't think we could stop him from going to that camp even if we tried."

"How do you know?"

"I know," he responds softly.

She doesn't question him further because she's fallen asleep again, and finally he manages to reach a point of half-consciousness where he dreams of the memory that's been trying to come back to him all day.

"_Zack?"_ _Cloud looked down at the man kneeling on the floor of the barracks, trying to messily tie a ribbon around a pink box. His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth slightly and his eyes were narrowed as if he could glare the package into submission._

"_Zack, I'm scared. You're tying pink bows."_

_Dropping the ribbon and the box in frustration, he growled and looked up. "Correction. I'm failing at tying pink bows."_

_Cloud blinked, tentatively stepping the rest of the way into the room and closing the door behind him. He dropped his gun and holster on his bed, which was the second bottom bunk on the left. _

_Zack eyed him critically. "Do you always leave your weapons lying around like that?"_

"_No." He'd just gotten back from shooting practice and he was frustrated. He didn't like guns much, even though he had great aim. His hands wanted the weight of a sword in them, but they didn't teach sword fighting to Privates. Thankfully he had Zack. "I'm still trying to figure out what you're doing…" Cloud said._

"_What's it look like? I know you're a little slow sometimes Cloud, but this is ridiculous. Obviously, I'm wrapping a gift."_

"_But why are you doing it here?"_

"_Now Cloud, what you're supposed to ask next is, 'Who is it for?' If I didn't have such a healthy ego, I might think you didn't want me around."_

_Cloud shrugged and sat down on his bed to unlace his boots._

_Zack continued, enthusiastically, "It's for my girl. I got her a necklace on our last peacemaking trip to some lonely forgotten village in the middle of nowhere. This lady was making jewelry there."_

"_So why can't you wrap it in_ your _room?"_

"_In front of the other SOLDIER's?_ _Are you crazy Cloud? I got a badass reputation to keep."_

_Cloud rolled his eyes, kicked his shoes off and lay back on the thin mattress. "So how many hours of training is it worth for me to keep my mouth shut about it?"_

_Zack frowned and gave him a murderous look. "You wouldn't rat out a friend, would you? I mean, I'm like the only one you have."_

_There really wasn't any animosity in the words, and Cloud almost smiled a little at Zack's suspicious tone. Of course he would never tell on his friend, but Zack had been teaching him how to use a sword, and he did everything he could to weasel the first-class SOLDIER into giving him more training time. "Try me," Cloud said nonchalantly, dangling one leg over the edge of the bed and swinging it back and forth lazily._

"_You're a bloody scoundrel, Cloud. Fine. Three hours."_

_Cloud could hear the smile in Zack's voice, even though fake anger was firmly planted on his face. "Okay."_

_Grumbling some colorful words, Zack returned to his package. It took several tries before he managed to loop the ribbon around the box, hold it in place, and tie it successfully._

_Cloud looked up at the dull metal supports of the bunk above him. "Was she pretty?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_That lady you bought the jewelry from?"_

"_What? Why—oh HO! I get it. You're thinking of that Tifa chick again, aren't ya? Nah, this woman was old and wrinkly. If all you're ever gonna do is daydream about her lover boy, then you should just go visit."_

_Cloud reached up to trace patterns in the metal with a gloved finger. "Why don't you visit _your _girl?"_

"_I do. Whenever I'm in Sector 6."_

"_Why don't you stay with her then?"_

_Zack didn't answer right away and Cloud turned his head to look at his friend, letting his hand drop to rest on his stomach. _

"_I mean, you want to be with her, right?"_

_Staring down at the floor intently without the cloak of cheerful cockiness around him, Zack looked suddenly bare. There was something strange about the shadows of his face and the artificial glow of his eyes looked harsher than usual. "I don't know how to explain it, but I can't. I think I've always known that I couldn't have a normal life. I'm just not made for it. My sister used to make fun of me. She called me a wandering wolf."_

_Cloud thought about this for a moment, letting his gaze drift to the empty bunks along the wall. "Hey, Zack?" he started slowly. "You know how I always told you that I left Nibelheim so I could impress Tifa?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_I don't think that was it, but I don't know how to explain it either."_

_Zack looked at him intently, seriousness etched in his features, before turning away and stretching upwards._ _It looked like he was trying to shed a weight off his shoulders. "Don't worry, man," he said, dropping his hand to run through his black, spiky hair. "I understand."_

_7*7*7*7*7*7*7_

_7*7*7*7*7*7*7  
_

A/N: There might be some cliché ideas floating around here, but give me a chance to make something out of them. I haven't seen many stories that explore Denzel, even though Advent Children leaves a lot of room to be creative with him. Up next, a look through Denzel's eyes.

And yes, mako poisoning. I'm sorry. I just can't imagine Cloud getting off free with enhanced strength and reflexes. Everything has side effects, and if the holy water were to heal him of the side effects, I would expect it to 'heal' him of his super strength too. That's just my take on things.


	4. Denzel

Disclaimer: My characters are mine. Square's characters are theirs. Pretty self-explanatory, eh?

A/N: Because someone who has been through as much as Denzel can't help but feel lost and confused…

Takes place immediately following the last chapter.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Part 4 – Denzel **

His first breath of consciousness comes in a violent newborn rush, eyes blinking at the ceiling because his mind isn't awake yet and it will be several more seconds before he realizes he is in his room and not standing inside Mrs. Levy's house staring at her black-ink stained body. Denzel sighs and relaxes back into the bed, throwing a hand over his head to land heavily on the pillow, the other pressed against his chest.

_Hello World,_ he thinks, counting the seconds until his breathing steadies. He waits a little longer before thrusting his sheets to the side, leaving them in a blue knot of fabric that he knows will get him a verbal beating from Tifa. He reaches upward, pops his shoulders and neck, and glances at the window. _How early is it? The _sun _isn't even awake yet._

He doesn't bother looking at the clock. It really doesn't matter. He usually wakes up earlier than everyone else anyway. Rubbing his eyes and sighing, he walks to the door, the handle cool against his clammy skin. He pulls it toward him. Squeeeeeak!

_Shut up!_

The door doesn't listen and it is an effort to restrain a frustrated growl. _Of course it didn't listen, it's an inanimate object, you dork._

Several squeaks and muttered curses later, he has a space wide enough for him to slip through, bare feet noticing the difference as he steps onto the wood tiling of the hallway floor. It is starting to peel up in some places, revealing the scrap metal underneath, and Denzel can feel the ridges under his feet. He wonders if Cloud and Tifa are going to replace it with carpet soon, like they had in his room, and he hopes they don't. Part of him hates seeing the gleam of metal peaking through the cracks, cold and glaring at him whenever he looks down. He can imagine it even now, in the dark, as he feels his way along the hallway wall to Marlene's room. It makes him think of too-hot days halfway between the upper and lower plates of Midgar, people packed together and picking through rubble. Or the sheared steel edges that reached out like jagged deformed hands in the space where sector 7 had once been—where his parents had once been, where his home had once been. Sometimes, it makes him feel sick to look down at those gleaming slivers of metal, but that is why he wants them there, clenched between the lips of peeling wood.

He reaches Marlene's room, preparing himself for the world of princess-pink as he opens the door. Even in the dark, it is easy to see just how obscenely, obnoxiously, girly it is. When he moved out into Cloud's old room two years ago, the first thing she did was cover the walls in pink wallpaper, her bed in pink sheets, and her dresser with dolls in pink dresses. He knows it was all to annoy him. "It looks like the inside of a Chocobo's mouth. I think your bed would be its tongue," he'd said, as she stood there proudly showing off her decorating monstrosity. She'd simply stuck out her own tongue and snarled. To which he'd replied, "Yep, just like that."

Marlene is somewhere in the middle of all that girliness, huddled up under the blankets (just to add variety, these are fuchsia) on the Chocobo's tongue, strands of black hair sprawled out across the pillow and her face buried too deeply for him to see. He takes a step into the room, but only a step, and pauses there until he sees the blankets gently rise and fall. _Good morning, Marlene_, he thinks.

Then he turns soundlessly, leaving the room with the door closed behind him. Cloud and Tifa are next.

This time, he only stops in front of the door, pressing his ear to it. No way is he going in there. Noooo sirreee. Too many life-scarring things happen in there. He is almost afraid to _listen_, just in case. This one time, he'd put his ear to the door and—

_No, no, we won't go there. Think happy thoughts, Denzel. Like motorcycles, and the time you hid Cloud's keys in his back pocket while you were wrestling him and he searched for hours until he finally felt them jiggle and turned the color of Marlene's room because he'd had them all along. Yes, that's right. Good mental image. _

It isn't that Denzel thinks girls have cooties or anything. He is way past that stage. The problem is that Cloud and Tifa are _excessively_ mushy. They are like, the epitome of emo. Sometimes, Cloud will look at Tifa and say the most ridiculous things: "I know it will be okay Tifa, because I have you." To which she'll blush, sigh dreamily, and say, "I'll always be here for you, Cloud." It is all just too much.

Anyway, back to the listening. He presses his ear harder against the wood, finally catching the soft exhale-woosh of Tifa's breathing and then a gentle creak. _Wait, creak?_

The door suddenly opens and Denzel almost falls forward. Thankfully, the wall that is Cloud Strife breaks his momentum.

"Umm… Hey Cloud," Denzel says quietly, after regaining his balance with the help of Cloud's hands supporting his elbows.

"Denzel, what are you doing?"

"I was… uh." _Think fast._ "On my way to the kitchen for something to eat and I thought I heard strange noises." _Woohoo!_ _Good save._

Cloud regards him for a moment, arms crossed over his chest and bulging slightly under his thin yellow t-shirt. Denzel tugs a little at his own oversized shirt self-consciously. First on the to-do list for the day: many, many pushups. Cloud is still watching him carefully, and Denzel can tell he has just gotten out of bed because his eyes are even shinier than usual. Finally, he blinks and says, "I'll go with you."

_Go with me where? Oh… yeah. I said I was going to the kitchen._ He backs away so Cloud can step completely out of the room and close the door, the blond warrior dropping a hand to ruffle Denzel's hair as he does. Denzel closes his eyes and scrunches his nose, trying to look annoyed. But the truth is, even though it makes him feel like a little kid, it also makes him feel… protected, safe… like he belongs. He follows Cloud downstairs.

They split ways at the kitchen, Cloud nodding for him to sit at the small table while he rummages through the refrigerator, outrageously spiked hair disappearing amongst the shelves. When he reappears, his arms are full. Denzel can't quite be sure in the lack of light, but he thinks he sees peanut butter and ice cream and carrots among the items. Sufficed to say, he is a tad worried. Cloud doesn't seem to notice though, turning his back to Denzel and dumping everything on the counter to work on his creation, not bothering to turn on a light because he is an ex-SOLDIER (almost) and _of course_ he can see just fine in the dark. His eyes _do_ glow.

_It's_ _probably better that I can't see what he's making, _Denzel muses. Cloud isn't exactly the cook of the family. Whenever Cloud even bothers offering to help Tifa with breakfast or, if he is actually home early enough, dinner, she is always very, very quick to refuse. Finally, Cloud turns around, flicks the light switch on the wall, and slides two plates and utensils onto the table. _What the…_ Denzel stares down at Cloud's creative masterpiece.

"Eat it fast. The ice cream will melt." Cloud says, sitting in a seat across the table. From the muddled sound of his deep voice, he has already begun stuffing his mouth full.

Denzel blinks at his plate. On it is a peanut butter sandwich cut into four neat triangles and drizzled (drenched) in chocolate syrup with a scoop (heap) of vanilla ice cream. The really interesting part is what is _on _the ice cream though. Two slices of carrot for eyes, the tip of a carrot poking out for a nose, and a long sliver for the mouth. It is a happy face and it looks ridiculously… happy. He glances up at Cloud, who is through the ice cream already dismantling his chocolate peanut-butter sandwich. _Total head case. It's gotta be the hair._

But Denzel is smiling anyway. When a carrot face is staring at you from a pile of ice cream in the early hours of the morning, there is really nothing else to do but smile, shake your head, and start eating.

He is almost done when Cloud finally speaks again. "How is it?" He is leaning back in his chair, balancing it on the back two legs, his arms folded behind his head and his plate empty.

"'ood," Denzel manages around a mouthful of peanut butter. He nods, just in case clarification is needed.

"Sorry, I had a craving for one of Tifa's chocolate peanut-butter pies, but this was the closest I could come." He looks a little embarrassed as he says it.

Denzel smiles and swallows the last bite. "Thanks, Cloud."

Cloud nods once, and is silent, staring up at the plaster ceiling. Denzel is used to the long stretches of quiet that inevitably come with Cloud's presence. It is a nice change from Marlene's constant talking and Tifa's nagging. He closes his eyes and thinks about his dream from earlier in the night. He'd watched Mrs. Levy die again, saw her throw her body into the path of the Lifestream as it twisted in ribbons through Midgar, converging at Meteor to destroy it. She'd taken him in after his parents had died, had shared everything she had with him when he had nothing to give back, and then she had sacrificed her life to protect him too.

He opens his eyes. Cloud is still staring at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. Denzel studies the silent man before him, traces the lines of his face and the crinkled tightness at the corners of his lips and eyes, the exhausted hollow shadows that the light casts on his cheeks, the weighted bend of his posture. There is a tight twist of nausea inside of Denzel that doesn't come from his stomach. _I know you're sick, Cloud. _He's known for months now.

And he knows that this time it is different from geostigma, that Cloud can't simply take a dip in the holy water and get better. The first time he'd realized it Cloud had come home late and gone immediately upstairs, and when Denzel passed by his and Tifa's closed bedroom door to go to the bathroom, he'd heard them. _His_ pained breathing. _Her_ quiet words of comfort. The tension between them when his breathing finally steadied and her desperate voice stopped several long minutes later.

After that, Denzel had realized that this was Cloud's routine at least several times a month, and mostly when he was already exhausted. He had learned to see the signs, to expect its coming, and he'd also learned to hide it, to play along so that Marlene would never guess that their hero could be broken. _Don't_ _worry, Cloud. This time I'll protect you. I'll protect everyone. I'll be strong enough soon._

"Why do you want to go to this camp?"

Denzel snaps his drifting gaze back to meet Cloud's blue eyes, now intensely focused on him. "I…" _Can't_ _tell you_. "want to help people." He thinks a moment, pursing his lips. "A lot of people have done so much for me, like you and Tifa, and I just want to give back a little. And Holding Hands International is supposed to be all about community service and stuff." Well, that was sort of true.

Cloud looks at him for a long time and then firmly nods. His gaze drifts to the counter and he shifts in his seat. "Denzel… do you ever blame Avalanche for what they did?"

The question isn't one he expects and it sends him reeling through a wave of emotions, years of anger and hurt condensed into a brief impression that compounds in his throat and in his chest. Does he blame them for blowing up that reactor in Midgar? For prompting ShinRa to destroy Sector 7? For all the people they had killed? The people Cloud and Tifa had killed? The people of Midgar had uncomfortably settled with the idea that the members of Avalanche were heroes, but it wasn't without the sideways glares, the angry bickers, the occasional drunken outburst in Tifa's bar. If Cloud had never helped destroy that first reactor, maybe none of this would have ever happened. Maybe he would be living on the upper plate, in ShinRa's executive housing, sleeping comfortably with his parents in the next room. Or maybe not. Maybe everything would have happened anyway. Maybe ShinRa would have destroyed everyone and the planet too. Denzel can't say.

All he can do is look at Cloud, remember the kindness Cloud and Tifa have shown him, remember the courage he has learned from them, remember the hero Cloud makes him want to be, and lie. "No," he says.

Another penetrating stare from Cloud. "I'm sorry about it all, Denzel."

Denzel shrugs. "Doesn't matter. So can I go to camp?" He forces a hopeful lightness to lift his tone.

Cloud gives him another nod.

"Woohoo!" Denzel pumps a hand in the air and nearly falls out of his chair.

"Woah, calm down there. You're going to wake up Tifa and Marlene."

Denzel grins widely. "Thanks Cloud!"

Cloud smiles back at him and drifts off into thought again. "You know, I was about your age when I left home," he says, after a pause.

"Cloud it's only for a month."

He chuckles. "I guess I'm just mothering you."

Denzel shakes his head firmly. "Tifa does that enough." He looks down at the table for a moment, a hand running through his hair. Something Cloud had said… "Why did you want to join SOLDIER?"

The front two legs of the chair slam down on the floor as Cloud leans forward, settling his elbows on the table and staring down at his hands. "I guess I wanted to be someone important for once. I was always getting beat up on at school because I was smaller than everyone else, but I thought if I could join SOLDIER, I could become strong and impress everyone."

He scratches the back of his neck and scrunches his eyebrows together. "I didn't really get it, though."

"Didn't get what?"

"That it's not about impressing people. The first time I fought Sephiroth was after my home had just been destroyed and it kinda dawned on me that it wasn't a game. By the time I made it out of Hojo's lab and had my senses back, I didn't want to be a hero anymore."

Arms wrapped around the knees he's pulled to his chest and eyes dull with memories, Denzel asks, "How did you deal with it?"

"Deal with what?"

"Losing your home."

There is the sound of rustling fabric and then the muted thud of steps and he sees the gray of Cloud's sweatpants beside him through his downcast eyes. "Denzel…" He feels a firm hand on his shoulder. He looks up.

"I…" Cloud stops, eyes flickering away for a moment, like he is searching for something, and then he is back. "I've never forgotten the hurt of losing my home. It doesn't go away. I've just… learned to channel it into something positive, into building a new home. The last time I fought Sephiroth, when he took over Kadaj's body… he asked me what I cared about most in this world."

The heavy base of his voice stops, the gaze again flickering away. Denzel's fingers are pressed into his knees through his flannel pants, nails biting into his skin. He pushes harder, waiting, and then finally prods Cloud on. "What did you say?"

Cloud blinks, like he's forgotten he had been speaking or that he is even in the room. "I told him I cared about everything." He pauses, then, "What about you, Denzel?"

Denzel drops his chin to his knees. _I care about you, Tifa, and Marlene. I care about Midgar. I care about Mom and Dad and Mrs. Levy. But they're dead and you're sick and… _"I don't know."

Denzel doesn't look up to meet Cloud's eyes, but he hears his voice, falling gently over him, "It's okay not to know, Denzel. Figuring it out is the first step."

"First step to what?" Denzel asks, looking up in confusion.

But Cloud only smiles and the expression barely stretches his lips, but it is the most real show of comfort that Denzel thinks Cloud's face can make. "You'd better try to get back to sleep, Denzel. Tomorrow—or I guess it's today—is your last day of school and camp starts in only a few days. Don't you have a final exam too?"

"Yeah." _Stupid algebra._

"Goodnight, Denzel." He ruffles Denzel's hair one more time and then grabs the two empty plates on the table, depositing them in the sink on his way out.

Alone now, Denzel slowly unfolds himself and follows Cloud's shadow up the stairs.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

When Denzel gets back into bed, stretching slowly under the covers and clutching his pillow, he falls into half-conscious memory: a week ago, walking home from school.

_He was scuffing at the ground as he went, watching the toes of his shoes leave marks on the dusty concrete. It wasn't often that he walked home alone, but Marlene was staying for after-school intramurals. Dance class or something. She was starting to stay for that more and more._

_Squinting up at the sky between the line of two- and three-story buildings, he couldn't help the feeling of being trapped. He didn't know why, but cities made him feel claustrophobic, even though he'd never lived outside of one. Maybe it had something to do with his youngest years of childhood, spent on the upper plate of Midgar's Sector 7. The houses there weren't exactly spread out, but the blocks of identical porches, doors, and windows were occasionally interrupted by squares of grass lawn or a strategically placed park. It wasn't like this. Edge felt more industrial, more run-down and cold. The buildings were a patchwork of different metals and concrete and carefully conserved wood. They were pieced together and damaged, just like the people that lived in them._

_It was strange. When he first lost everything and was collecting scrap metal to survive in the slums while Midgar was starting to rebuild, he had been the one to refuse to leave. He'd watched all his friends and work partners disappear one by one, most going to Edge to help with the new construction. But he'd stayed. Stubbornly stayed until he was alone and even then, he didn't go. He'd clung to the place until he collapsed outside of Aeris' church, geostigma leaking black-ink blood from his forehead._

_And now, he only wanted to get away and become someone else. Someone that wasn't powerless. Someone that didn't feel trapped by buildings._

_Slinging his backpack higher over his shoulder and letting his bangs fall across his eyes, he shoved his hands in his pockets and continued toward the Seventh Heaven._

"_Are you Denzel?"_

_He spun around, fists coming up to guard his face and legs spreading into a defensive fighting stance Cloud had taught him. A man stood about ten feet away with blue eyes, black slicked-back hair and a smartly cut navy suit. He was a collection of flawlessly straight lines and precise angles; even his dark blue tie was centered perfectly across his breast. "Who are you?" Denzel asked, voice and expression laden with suspicion._

_The man held out his hands in a gesture of peace. "My name is Ren. I represent an organization called Holding Hands International. Are you Denzel Strife?"_

_Denzel narrowed his eyes. "That's not my last name." They'd never changed it. Tifa had asked him once if he wanted to, but he'd refused so quickly the subject had never been mentioned again._

_Ren_ _dropped his hands and smiled. "My apologies." But he didn't really look sorry and Denzel wondered if the mistake was intentional. "You do live with him though, right? I'd like to offer you a very special opportunity. It's not one we're offering to everyone."_

_Denzel kept his stance, not moving. "What is it?"_

"_Holding Hands International is sponsoring a special camp for a month in the summer. It starts in two weeks. I think you'll be interested in it." Ren took a step closer, his sharp and acutely bent features serious. One hand had found its way into his pocket but the other was tapping against his leg in a way that was obviously subconscious. "Denzel, when you look around you, what do you see?"_

_Denzel shrugged._

"_I want you to notice when you continue walking home. Notice people's faces. Most of them aren't smiling. Most of them are still struggling to pick up their lives after having them completely destroyed four years ago. They have all lost loved ones and they are afraid of who they'll lose next. And who do they have to protect them? Who will save them when the monsters come or the next power-hungry villain pops up? The members of Avalanche have their own lives now. Like Cloud and Tifa, your guardians. What happens if they decide to have kids? Would they still be able to fight?"_

'_What happens if they get sick?' Denzel added silently. 'What if Cloud gets too sick to fight?' Aloud, he said, "So?" carefully keeping the resistance strong in his voice._

"_The world needs hope, my friend. It needs new heroes to guarantee its future. It needs the assurance of protection. It needs to be able to live without fear to rebuild."_

"_You want me to be a hero?"_

_Ren_ _smiled, and it softened the intensity of his face so that he seemed truly genuine and almost kind. "Denzel, I think you already are a hero inside. That's why I'm choosing you. You just need to enhance it. I can help you do that."_

_Again, Denzel was silent, but he was thinking._

"_I've been watching you for a while, Denzel. I'm not offering this to you lightly. I really believe in you. What will it be? What do you want? To continue wandering around in a pointless life? Or to finally have a purpose and the power to protect?"_

"_Will I get to leave Midgar and Edge?"_

"_You'll get to travel the world."_

_Dropping his fists, Denzel slowly straightened. "I'm not strong enough. Not like Cloud."_

"_You will be. You will be strong enough to save the world if need be."_

"_How?"_

_Ren_ _took another step closer, pulling his hand out of his pocket and holding out a glossy business card._ _Denzel stared a moment before taking it. "You'll have to trust me," Ren said. And when Denzel looked up into those eyes so much like his own he saw purpose there, the genuine desire to do something meaningful, and subdued pain._

"_Okay." Denzel nodded once._

_Ren_ _smiled and looked relieved. "Okay."_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: I recommend reading "On the Way to a Smile," particularly the chapters about Denzel. This is a novella that Square Enix released in preparation for Advent Children. Just google it and you'll find a bunch of English translations floating around. The storytelling isn't too wonderful, but I'm basing Denzel's past on it anyway. I mean, it's part of continuity and all that.


	5. Elena

A/N: Because the whole idea of SOLDIERS running around chopping people in half with giant swords is just a little freaky…

This chapter takes place a few days after the last one.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Part 5 – Elena**

It is late evening when he reaches the doors of the popular Midgar pub, and the dark feels polluted by the noise and smoke poring out of its windows. Ren is sure people didn't drink and smoke this much in pre-Meteor days. He's never liked liquor much. It makes him dizzy.

_Why here of all places?_ _I offered her so many other options. HHI Headquarters. Healing Lounge. But she chose here._

He pushes the swinging door open, eyes skittering across the tables and stools and booths and the over-dramatic faces and the glasses and the cigarettes and the plates of half-eaten food and the male bartender grabbing bottles from a shelf behind the bar with rows and rows and—

Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, he takes several controlled steps inside, and focuses on one detail of what he is looking for. Short blond hair.

"Mr. Akabori." It is a thick female voice with alto tones and the words are a statement, not a question.

He turns enough to see the short blond hair behind his left shoulder. "Yes?"

"Last booth, right side."

His eyes follow the directions to two empty red-padded bench seats sandwiching a silver metal table. The booth next to it is occupied by a man and woman who look both very drunk and very much like they are trying to suck the life out of each other through their lips. He tries not to stare as he walks past. It is hard though, and it is hard not to look nervous when he slides into the seat, even though it feels like pebbles are being pumped through his veins and a hammer is trying to bang its way out of his head.

Elena sits across from him, carrying a drink and placing the glass on the table. He watches her carefully, narrowing his senses around her for stability. _Elena. Elena of the Turks. Elena._ He repeats the name to himself as he notes that she is remarkably beautiful simply because she appears so unassuming, so incredibly normal until you look closer. She isn't particularly tall, and what subtle curves her body has are lost in the heavy lines of her navy suit. Her hair curves naturally under her chin, and though it is lightly colored, it isn't so abnormal as to look unnatural. But the eyes, the striking luminescent brown with flecks of green. The eyes give her away. It is like a mystery that can only be solved by the attentive. And then, it all comes together, the color of the suit with her eyes and the highlights of her hair around the delicate cheeks and gently pointed chin. _She's_ _stunning_.

"Mr. Akabori?" she says, repeating his name in the formal for the second time.

He stops her with a hand. "Ren is fine."

She looks hesitant for only a moment before continuing. "Mr. Akabori, there have been some rumors about you. Rufus is concerned. I volunteered to speak with you about it."

"Volunteered?" he repeats slowly.

She tilts her head slightly, the strands of hair falling neatly along her jawline. "Yes. We hear you've been buying mako from the dealers."

So they'd noticed that. He'd wondered if anyone would. After mako had been banned for use by the general public almost a year ago, it had become the most sought-after item on the black market. He'd thought he might be confused for another junkie on the streets, but then, he _had_ bought quite a bit of it. He feels like he's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Perhaps I have an addiction," he says, shrugging and trying to look casual like he imagines Zack might have. Zack had always been good at getting out of trouble. He'd also always been good with women.

She blinks at him, then frowns and drops her eyes. "I spoke to your scientist. He's very talkative… once you bring him around." There's a strange tilt to her voice and for the split second it takes for her to cup her hands around her glass and lift the drink to her lips, she looks embarrassed. Then it is gone, and the hard-edged intensity is back and he wonders if it was just all the smoke in the air drawing a mirage on her face.

She is talking about Jenkins, and it suddenly occurs to him that not only is Jenkins an irresponsible, degraded imbecile, he is also a womanizer. Ren decides he doesn't really want to know what she means by 'bringing him around'. Jenkins is a genius, but ridiculously lacking in common sense. And messy. He is always so messy. He can't even keep track of his words. "What did he tell you?"

"Enough to know that you're playing with mako enhancements to make a new type of SOLDIER."

He chuckles, a halting sound, and shakes his head. The world spins for a moment and then comes back into focus and he determines that for the rest of this conversation, his head will remain stationary. "No. Not SOLDIERS. I'm working with those who would protect the planet and I'm giving them the power to do it. The missions are very different. The SOLDIER program is simply a model. Let's say, an example of what can be done." His words are carefully chosen. How much does she know? How much does ShinRa know? He waits for her response.

For a long stretch of moments, she simply stares at him, eyebrows squeezing wrinkles into her forehead like she is trying to figure something out. Finally, she smiles bitterly and says, "Don't you get it? Normal people can't kill like that. Normal people with hearts in their chests don't slice people in half with inhumanely large swords and then sleep peacefully at night. The SOLDIERS were monsters, driven crazy by mako addiction."

"But you also went through mako enhancements."

She looks at him silently with emotionless brown-rock eyes and suddenly he's not sure if she is still beautiful. "I'm a monster. All the Turks are. How do you think we do what we do? We've been conditioned not to feel anything when we kill."

"What about Cloud?" _Cloud Strife. The hero, the legend, the family man and protector. _

"The conditioning was separate from the mako treatments, but the mako helped. It made us detached, disconnected us from reality so that we could learn to look at blood without flinching. Cloud never had this training, only the mako injections. It must have come naturally to him."

Ren has to resist shaking his head again. "I don't think so. I've seen him with his family."

"Reno once told me that Cloud was the coldest bastard he'd ever met."

"Why are you telling met this?"

"Because no one should have to live like we do, but the other Turks would never admit that. None of us would… sober." She moves her hands against the glass cupped between them and he notices for the first time that it is almost empty and that the liquid inside is clear. He guesses it's not water.

"There are remnants you know, of SOLDIER," she says, looking down.

Ren's face slackens and he suddenly feels very serious. He remembers the flash of metal, the insane cries of crazed rage, and barely escaping in his truck with Jenkins yelling, "The hell, we almost died. We almost DIED, man," beside him. So maybe she does know. But then, she must understand too, why his mission is even more important than ever. Why he's willing to go to the extremes he is.

"Most of them are hiding in the wilderness," she continues. "They are bitter and angry and crazy. We've run across them a few times. Mostly they live isolated from the world. They aren't human anymore."

"They aren't isolated anymore, either," Ren says quietly.

"What?" And just like that, she is beautiful again.

"They are mobilizing." He stands, looking across the bar as he does. All these oblivious, inebriated people, helpless and running from their lives. They have no way to defend themselves. How can you defend against an army of super-powered SOLDIERS that have lost their way, their connection with reality? There is only one way. He glances back at her and she is staring at her now-empty glass, a blank look in her eyes. "That's why I'm doing this. Because when they come, someone will have to fight them."

She shakes her head slowly and a humorless smile touches her lips. "Will it ever end?"

Ren returns the smile, but his is genuine, and he thinks if she were to look up, she might be comforted by it. "Yes," he says. "But I need to make my heroes first." He turns then, walking as quickly as he can to the door, eager to get away from the noise and the discord and the chaos and back to the ordered world of his office.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: I know that was short, but I think it needed to be. I'm not sure how much I'm going to use Elena in this story. She's interesting to me because she starts out as the overeager rookie Turk but I imagine after 6 years of assassinations and other brutal jobs she would change a bit. I imagine she'd be a bit darker… But then, I think I'm portraying everyone a bit darker than normal in this story. I guess the characters seem more real to me that way… I mean, they've all been through so much trauma.

This story is running away from me. The characters are starting to take over. That's a good thing though. It gets me excited.

Please, please leave feedback. Before I shoot off into No Man's Land with this plot, I need to know what people think. Thanks! And thanks to everyone who has left feedback already!

I've got a one-shot idea or two apart from this story… they're still percolating in my mind though.


	6. Family Portrait: Elena

A/N: Because the promise of super-strength, even if only for a few moments, is just too lucrative…

This chapter takes place immediately after the last one.

Just as a warning, this story is not based at all on Before Crisis. Only on the original game, Advent Children, The Case of Tifa, and the Case of Denzel. As such, I'm making up some of the background of the Turks. Sorry if that drives anyone nuts.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Part 6: Family Portrait – Elena**

Elena counts the buildings as she passes them, unable to stop the numbers from sounding through her head. It was something her sister had always done when they were children and the habit has stuck with her. She is now 11 houses, 3 bars, 1 tavern, 5 stores and 37 shanties away from the bar she met Ren at. Shrugging her shoulders, she tries to drop the tallies from her mind but she can't. Her subconscious keeps at it. 38 shanties.

A man stands in front of this last patched-together shelter, wearing a thin white tank top and a toothy smile. His eyes are faintly luminescent and are completely blank. He sways a little where he stands, muscles shivering and convulsing. Mako. She blows a breath through her teeth and looks away. The man is lost in a mako-trip, track marks leaving muddled trails up the exposed white flesh of his arms. She wonders if maybe the slums of Midgar might not have returned after the city was destroyed if it hadn't been for all the mako-junkies flooding the streets. Glancing up at the star-spotted sky, she is thankful at least that there is no plate overhead.

"Heeeey, Baaabyyyyy." The baritone voice cuts through the air, lifting an octave at the last syllable.

A group of young men and woman stand a few feet to her right, leaning against the wall of a building—ratty clothes, heavy make-up, jittery movements. The man speaking is tall and wiry with spiked orange hair, hand pressed against the building window to keep his swaying body steady. That's tavern number 2. She doesn't slow her steps.

"Aww, come _auwn_ Honey! The Lifeforce saved us and it's still savin' us, ya know? You've just got to let it, ya know? Ain't no such thing as the past or the present or the future or time an' all that garbage. You'll see, Honey. Come _auwn_." His voice suddenly drops, and he says, as if sharing a secret, "You look like you got the gil."

She pauses, idling mid-step so that she can look over her shoulder at the mako dealer. His eyes have the faintest glow, but it is sickly, not like the eyes of a SOLDIER or anyone else who has gone through the ShinRa mako infusion process. The stuff they sell on the streets is too dirty, too cheap and polluted. Its effects are temporary and the feelings of heightened awareness and strength last hours at the most. But the mental confusion? That's still there.

The drug dealer is laughing, high-pitched cackles that make her want to shiver. "Oh Honey, now I see Baby, you already got the starlight eyes. Haha. You know what I'm talking about, then. When you need more, you know where to come, right Honey?"

Very quietly she says, "I don't want your mako." Then she smiles politely and walks away.

Drug addict number 29.

She sighs, squinting up at the tower of the new ShinRa Headquarters. Construction on it was finally completed only months ago and it cuts the night sky in half with the silver line of its profile. It's a trick of the mind, she knows, but it looks like a giant, hovering over her shoulder, watching her wherever she goes, and it makes her want to hide. _Childish, Elena_, she thinks bitterly. _Always such a child._ But then, that's why she's here. That's why she forces herself to walk through the mako belt so often. It's to overcome her fear, her hate for the drug.

And where did that fear and hate start? It hadn't always been there. For a time she'd been proud of the glow in her eyes and the SOLDIERS she'd worked with. When had that changed?

She glances back at the ShinRa tower, finding the row of windows five floors from the top and smiles an expression that is no more than the tensing and loosening of muscles in her face. Tseng's bedroom. Tseng. It started with Tseng.

How long has it been now? Six years? Six years since Sephiroth almost killed him. Six years since Rufus brought him back to life with months and months of mako injections and who knew what else. Rufus saved his life but it came at the cost of his freedom. She draws a picture of Tseng in her mind, long black hair and the exquisite structure of his face with the piercing blue eyes and thinks, _Mako_ _addict number 30._

She's tired of counting, so tired of counting. If she could only stop, maybe she'd get used to it. Maybe she could walk through the mako belt and not feel disgusted. She wants to learn to do that. She's trying so hard but nothing seems to change and she hates that she can't look at Tseng without feeling a little bit sick. She hates that she can't tell him she loves him and not taste bitterness on her tongue because the him she once loved is a prisoner now. She hates that she can't hear him say "I love you" back without feeling betrayed by his lack of strength.

She hates feeling so handicapped by her emotions. She just wants to be cured.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

The door is slightly ajar when she gets to Rufus' office, large ornate wood skewed only enough to let sound escape. Hand resting on the doorknob, she pauses, a conversation floating past her.

"The rebels got another three mako mines today, boss." It's Reno's voice, bouncing along lazily with the undercut tones of a sharp knife.

Rufus' steady bass replies, "How many were ours?"

"Only one."

"But I'd say that's a pretty good deal, wouldn't you?"

"If you say so boss."

A pause, then, "Elena, you can come in you know."

Breath caught in her throat, she pushes the door open slowly, fighting to control her expression but unable to erase the shock that raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes. "Sir? I'm sorry—I didn't, I mean—I—"

Reno turns to her, stares a moment, and begins laughing, an arm thrown across his stomach. He leans forward, clumps of long bright-red hair sliding over his shoulders from the pony tale at his neck. "Damn Rookie, you know how to make a face, yo. Ain't seen anyone look that scared since I caught this kid peeing on my motorcycle one night in the slums."

Her face is red. She can feel it, and it makes her even more embarrassed to think that she is standing there with a tomato for a head. _Very nice._ _Elena the tomato head._ "Sir…" she starts, ignoring Reno as much as she can.

Rufus shakes his head and gives her a paternal smile. "Don't worry about it, Elena. I saw you on the surveillance camera." He taps one of the monitors on his desk and she feels incredibly stupid for not remembering the cameras outside his door. She should have been more attentive.

"Yes, sir," is all she can think to say.

Leaning forward in the large swivel chair and placing his elbows on his expansive desk, Rufus turns back to Reno. "Thank you for your report, Reno. I want you to keep pretending to put up a fight. Keep me updated on the status of the mines."

Reno salutes stiffly, "Aye, Boss." Spinning sharply on his heal, he saunters out of the room, brushing by Elena with a grin on his face. She catches the smell of cheap liquor and cigarettes and expensive cologne as he passes. She remembers that the contradiction in scents had once confused her, but now it only seems to belong, to make sense with the way his fingers twirl his electric nightstick expertly over his knuckles and the way his ridiculous hair falls in sections over his back. It's a smell distinctly Reno.

The door closes with surprising gentleness and she is left alone with Rufus. Her gaze shifts across the room. It's a large office, thick deep-red rug and dark wood furniture labeling Rufus as a very rich man. The wood itself costs more than most people see in their lives. Even with the mako reactors gone, there still isn't anything close to a forest near Midgar. It will take years for foliage like that to grow back. And Elena has her suspicions about this new energy source they are using. Burning natural gas doesn't exactly produce clean air as a byproduct. People in the city were starting to complain…

"Elena."

Her gaze jolts back to Rufus. He is regarding her with a casual look, blond bangs neatly combed to the side so that she can easily see his blue eyes. "Yessir," she says in one word.

"What did you find?" He folds his hands on the table, the crisp lines of his gray suit tracing the outline of strong arms.

"I met with Ren Akabori as planned. He is trying to make heroes to fight the remnants of SOLDIER." A pause, then, "He says the SOLDIERS are mobilizing, sir."

Rufus sighs and nods. "They are."

"Sir?"

"Not against ShinRa of course. They are programmed to be loyal to ShinRa at all costs. If my father did anything right, it was making sure the SOLDIERS were properly brainwashed. But they were also trained to be violent and the Jenova cells and Mako poisoning have made them massively unstable. They are driven by the need to kill. The residents of Midgar won't be safe from them if they decide to attack."

"Do you think they'll attack?" She tries to imagine that, but she realizes she doesn't even have any idea how many of them there are. Ten? Twenty? Fifty? How many actually survived the near-annihilation of the planet?

"Absolutely. It's only a question of when."

"But why?"

"Mako." Rufus' lips form a thin hard line. "Mako makes the world go 'round. It's the most precious commodity we have, and the most valuable one too. All the successful business men in the world understand that—even this Ren. That's what Avalanche never quite got. Destroying the reactors didn't squelch our fascination with Life's Blood."

She blinks and tries not to look surprised. She doesn't know why, but it's strange to hear Rufus call the drug by its slang term. Life's Blood is a phrase she expects to hear yelled by the dealers on the street. It's the phrase she expects to hear sliding bitterly between Tseng's teeth as he shoots up, a regretful and defeated look in his blue-ice eyes. She considers for a moment, and then suddenly understands. "The SOLDIERS… they're mako addicts, aren't they, sir?" She sounds like a little girl to herself, lost in youthful wonder at the blond man sitting calmly in front of her. _Such a child, such a child._

Rufus nods. "Yes, and they're in the advanced stages of poisoning. They haven't had the benefit of the anti-toxins we've been giving Tseng. You've walked through the mako belt often enough to know that anyone who wants to get mako comes to Midgar."

He knew about her trips to the mako belt? How? She feels frozen before him and completely exposed. He is the only one that can make her feel so vulnerable and she thinks it has something to do with the piercing sharpness of his stare, the intelligent strength behind his words, and the ordered precision of his persona. "What should we do, sir?"

"Let Ren try to make his heroes. If he can get rid of the problem for us, that's great."

"But he's using mako-infusions. Isn't that going to make the problem worse?"

Rufus shakes his head and smiles in an almost fatherly way. It has a calming effect on her. "It's not the mako that makes the SOLDIERS so dangerous, it's the Jenova cells, or the combination rather. As long as Ren is only using mako, he'll just be making really strong people, but nothing superhuman and nothing we can't handle if we need to."

She turns that over in her mind, biting her lip. Jenova cells. Is that what makes the SOLDIERS so crazy? After all these years, Jenova was still getting her revenge on them. The Turks had never been treated with Jenova cells, and she wonders why now. It had always kept the SOLDIERS on a level slightly higher than them. Did Rufus' father know even then what Jenova would do to people's minds? A question suddenly pops into her thoughts. "Sir… Cloud, he went through the mako SOLDIER process. Why is he different?"

Rufus looks pleased. "Very good Elena. He's not."

She tries not to smile at his praise and look like a goofy-faced kid.

Rufus is continuing, "Mako weakens the mind. Cloud hasn't touched mako in years and as long as he doesn't, his mind will be strong enough to keep the Jenova cells in control. He'll be fine as long as he stays clean. And, he's had a lot of practice with being crazy. Maybe he's just learned how to deal with his disjointed mind better."

"So keep Cloud away from mako, Sir. Got it." Elena says, nodding. She inwardly cringes at how overly chipper her words sound.

"That's not all Elena."

"Sir?"

"I have a mission for you. I want you to keep an eye on Ren. You were right before when you implied that what he is doing can be dangerous. I want to make sure we have control of him."

"How?"

"Elena… how would you describe Ren?"

She pauses, then starts slowly, "Well… he seemed very genuine and… passionate." She brings a finger to her chin and crinkles her brow, "And I think he may have found me attractive."

"Perfect," and Rufus practically purrs as he says it.

She gives him a confused look.

"Elena, I think it's time that you got rid of that formal blue suit. Perhaps something more feminine?"

Elena blinks and lets out a shaky, "Sir?" She suddenly feels very uncomfortable.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

The scientist, Jenkins, was bad enough. She doesn't want to seduce Ren too, especially as a long-term undercover project that she can't tell herself will be over in a few hours. But she's the only female Turk, so naturally, the job is hers. She wonders if she would still be the undercover agent if there was another female Turk to choose from. She remembers Rufus' parting words, "And Elena, please remember to keep your mouth shut," and in her mind she hears Tseng echoing, "Elena, you talk too much." He's always telling her that, but usually now it's the precursor to a kiss.

Reno is waiting outside when she slips out the door, sealing the powerful demeanor of Rufus in the room behind her. He smiles charmingly, but as always with that little mocking twist at the corner of his lips, and as always with that arrogant arch of his eyebrows. "Heya Rookie, wanna go to the bar and get punch-drunk happy, yo?" His smile wilts a little. "You look like ya need it."

She scowls back at him, trying to rein her expression into control. "You drink too much, Reno. And yes, that's a no. Rufus just gave me a mission and I have to get ready to-" She stops. _Elena, you talk too much._

Chuckling, he crosses his arms over his chest and begins to walk, she keeping pace at his side. "Hey girl, you can kick 'em back just as good as the rest of us. 'Sides, might be fun." He gives her a sideways glance and waggles an eyebrow. "I won't tell Tseng if you don't, yo."

"Pervert," she grits out harshly.

"Yup. I've spent years perfecting that. So what's the big mission, 'Lena?"

She exhales a long breath of air and holds her folded hands in front of her as she walks. "I'm supposed to go undercover and gain the trust of this guy that is trying to make heroes to fight the left-over SOLDIERS. What's more, Rufus wants me to dress up so the guy will be more willing to talk to me."

Reno stops suddenly, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her to face him. His blue-diamond eyes slice through her skin as he looks her over, a stern expression on his face. In flash, a grin splits his features. "This is going to be fun."

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. Reno's idea of fun always results in terror for everyone else. "What do you mean?" His hand is still on her shoulder and she wants to make him move it but her body remains still.

"The suit will be the first to go." He scans her head to toe and then back again. "Something form-fitting and strappy. The color might be able to stay, though I think maroon might work better."

"What? Are you dressing me in your mind?"

"Normally I'd be doing the opposite."

"Stop, now." She grinds her teeth together for emphasis.

Reno doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he leans forward conspiratorially, his voice quiet. "But you know, the real fashion guru is Rude. The man can spot a knock-out dress a mile away, yo. See, me, I've naturally got style, but Rude, he has to work to be cool. Goes to show how talented he is, ain't like he's got a lot of good raw material to start from. Why do you think he barely talks? He's worried he's gonna mess it up."

"That's ridiculous."

"Hell no, it's the truth."

They reach the elevator and it is already there waiting for them, door open. Inside, Reno turns to her and says, "You sure you don't wanna have a drink, yo? Bring Tseng too. It'll be a party. Rude's comin'."

She shakes her head as the elevators rings out its announcement that they have arrived at her destination. Five floors from the top. "Have fun, Reno," she calls over her shoulder as she exits.

"Elena…"

She stops, frozen by the sudden seriousness of his voice, and turns back to him. He is standing with a hand braced against the elevator doorway, its electronic light sensors forcing it to stay open. A foot trails behind him in mid-step. "If you end up facing the SOLDIERS, you give us a call, okay? You're good, but you're nothing against them. Cloud is bad enough, but a whole bunch of the crazy bastards? Even with all of us it still could be…" He lets the sentence hang, unfinished. After a long, even stare, he says, "You just call us, okay?"

"Sure Reno." She smiles and turns away.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tseng is shooting up when she enters his room, the words "Life's Blood," trickling over his lips in a tight, ragged stream as the needle of green fluid pierces the skin of his arm. He has that look of anger in his eyes, that frustrated need for a revenge that will never come because Sephiroth is already dead. _Thanks Cloud. You weren't the only one who needed to fight him to save your pride,_ she thinks. Tseng hisses air through his teeth as the vile empties, like a cartoon sound effect. And then it is done. He throws the needle at the garbage pail in the corner of the spacious living room with deadly precision.

Blue-ice eyes flick up to hers. "Elena." It isn't a question, it isn't a statement, isn't a command or an accusation. It is simply a word, an acknowledgement of existence, and he doesn't smile when he says it. He never smiles when he's doing drugs.

She remembers the time he tried to quit. He'd lasted three days before the shaking got so bad that it was either have some mako or let his muscles rip his tendons apart. Obviously, he chose the mako. "Hi, Tseng," she says with a masquerade smile.

He tilts his head, rubbing his sore forearm that is puckered with scarred needle-pricks. "Rufus said you'll be gone for a while."

"Yes," she nods. "Don't know how long."

He takes a step closer to her, pale skin like white snow. It looks as cold too. "How do you feel about it?"

She shrugs, smiles a little, and looks away, eyes finding the royal blue rug. Then she is gazing at him again and saying, "I'm a Turk. I'll do my job."

A thin smile settles on his lips, and it seems to change the way the light reflects off his entire face. "That's what I like about you, Elena."

"What?"

"Do you remember when Kadaj caught us and tortured us?"

"I wish I could forget."

"Even though you couldn't control the tears in your eyes, you never once screamed."

She remembers, and she remembers why she didn't scream. It was because he was there.

"You have spirit, Elena." He holds her, his grip like the steel of her gun on her arms, and he kisses her forehead gently. She surrenders to him willfully, even though the scent of mako still clings to his skin, because she belongs here. The Turks are her family, and tomorrow, she will have to leave them. But tonight, tonight she is home.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Critique? Leave a note please. It's much appreciated.


	7. The Idea of Revenge

**A/N: Because revenge is always a struggle in a hero's life…**

This chapter takes place two days after the last one.

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Pied Flycatcher, a great writer and my diligent reviewer.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. It is very much appreciated.

Flashbacks are in italics...

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7**  
**

**Part 7 – The Idea of Revenge**

"_You know, you're special, Denzel."_

"_Huh?" His head was leaning on the car window, hands pressed against his temples. He fought to open his eyes against his headache and glanced at his mother next to him. She lifted a hand from the steering wheel, touching him with doe gray eyes briefly as her fingertips grazed his forehead._

"_You're not like the other children."_

_Why did she want to remind him? "I don't wanna be sick anymore," he said with a small and sullen voice. "Why can't they fix me?" _'Just want the pain to stop,' he thought. 'Please make it stop. No more doctors. No more large hands and cold tools. No more missing moments. Please.'

"_It's not something to be fixed, baby. You'll see. When you grow out of the seizures it will be better."_

"_I hate it," and the words were almost a sob._

"_You're special, don't ever forget. You're too young to understand, but one day you will. My special Denzel." _

_Denzel moaned pitifully against the window as his body rejected him again with a strike of pain that reverberated through his body._

_Too young._

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Denzel blinks and stares at his overflowing suitcase, rubbing his chin and pushing the memories out of his head. This is a problem.

Last time he had packed for a trip had been when he was five, and he hadn't actually packed, his mom had. He'd been sick a lot and they had decided to take a vacation to Costa De Sol for a few days to cheer him up. That was also the last time he'd even owned a suitcase. Cloud and Tifa didn't take vacations. They worked too much.

_Alright_ _Denzel, you've got this._ He rubs his hands against his knees and readies his body in a lunge. Then he dives at the suitcase. _Round one!_ _Denzel verses the Bag of Destruction!_

Round one goes to the suitcase. So does round two and three.

Huffing and snorting through his nose, Denzel jumps on the bag for the forth time. When he finally gets the zipper shut he falls backwards on his bed, panting. His eyes catch on the family portrait sitting on his nightstand. It's like their family crest or something. The same picture is in Marlene's room and in Cloud and Tifa's room. It's the picture they took right after he was healed of geostigma.

And here he'd thought he'd packed everything. He lifts his head and looks down at the bag under his sprawled-out legs. No way is he opening that again. Grunting, he sits up and carefully takes the picture out of the frame, sticking it in his back pocket.

Okay, he is ready. Right. Just need to bring the bag downstairs and—right… He sighs at the huge bulging mass sinking into his mattress and mutters, "Ah, hell," as he grabs the handle to begin the work of dragging the thing out of his room and down the stairs.

By the time he gets to the steps, he is gasping desperately, and he is sure he is going to fall down them and break every bone in his body before he even makes it to HHI (Holding Hands International) Headquarters. Grunting, he eases the oversized suitcase down another stair, wishing, as usual, that he were stronger.

From below, he hears everyone else talking in the living room. He concentrates on their voices. _Light at the end of the tunnel._ Another stair, another grunt. _Just keep moving._

"Barrett called," he hears Tifa say.

"I got to talk to him!"

_Marlene, sedatives,_ Denzel thinks in response to her voice.

"Yeah?" That's Cloud. "How is he? Is he still booming his way to terrorist fame?"

"That pun was hooorrible."

A chuckle. "Sorry, Marlene."

Tifa: "He says they took down another three mako mines yesterday."

Cloud: "Really? He may actually get the stuff off our streets after all." A pause. "Hey, Marlene. Blowing things up is still bad, okay? Very, very bad."

"Okay!" she says with such sugary enthusiasm that Denzel can picture the honey-sweet smile-of-terror that goes with it.

He sniggers/curses as he stumbles down the last step with his suitcase, remembering the time he and Marlene had exploded Cloud's sock drawer using a homemade bomb Cid taught them to make. He also remembers how imposing Cloud had seemed as he stood over him and Marlene, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face, and his feet bare.

With one last audible heave, Denzel yanks his bag into the living room, catching the sight of them lounging on the couch before he gets caught on the doorjamb and tumbles across the rug, the rectangular hard-shelled suitcase thudding against the floor behind him. _Ouch, _he thinks, and then decides it's worth saying out loud. "Ouch." He's flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. He's never really looked at the ceiling this way before. It's actually kinda nice, with an overhead fan hanging down made of scrap metal that is quite skillfully crafted—

"Denzel!"

_I repeat, sedatives Marlene._

"Denzel!" she yells again as she kneels down beside him, shaking his shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm dead." He squints up at her as she leans back on her haunches, sticking her lips out in a pout.

"Well, you don't have to be so mean about it. I'm just showing concern for my brother before he goes away and leaves us for a month."

A year ago, Marlene had decided that he was going to be her brother no matter what he said, and that it didn't matter if their blood or their parents weren't the same. He'd given up protesting. "Mean rhymes with Marlene, not Denzel," he says. "'Sides, what if I really am dead?"

"Then I guess you can't go to camp," comes Tifa's nonchalant response.

"Hey! Look at that, I'm fine! It's a miracle!" Denzel sits up quickly and waves his hands in the air, seeing Tifa laugh and Cloud's slight smile. He smiles too. "Can we go now?"

"Not before you get your hugs." Tifa stands, a hand on her hip, long brownish black hair swaying behind her as she shifts her weight and arches her eyebrows evilly. "Right, Marlene?"

"Yeah!"

_This is gonna be bad,_ he thinks, trying to scramble to his feet so he can run away, but Tifa is too fast and Marlene is right beside him. They tackle him back onto the floor, tickling him and snuggling him and hugging him and kissing him. _Mushifying_ _me._ _Horror like this can only be described with a made up word. Mushifying._ "Cloud," he barely shouts through his own laughter/tears. "Help… me."

"You're on your own," he hears the deep voice reply. Then Cloud is walking past him, reaching down to ruffle his hair through the attack of the killer females, and continuing on to grab the suitcase. Cloud lifts it (with pitiful ease) and heads toward the front door. "See you outside, Denz." Denzel catches slivers of Cloud's face through the curtain of Marlene's hair (she's clutching his throat like he is her favorite plushy) as the blond-spiked head nods once and he walks outside. "Good luck," Denzel hears, with amusement tinting the tone of Cloud's voice, and then the door slams shut.

"We'll miss youuuuuuuuuu Denzel!"

_Oh, I'm gonna need a lot more than luck._ And he vows, that at some point on his heroic journey, he will buy a tranquilizer gun.

But when they finally stop tickling him and both sit back on their knees, he looks up at their faces still gasping on the floor and feels something strange in his chest. They look like they could really be related, with matching grins and crescent-shaped eyes, and he thinks that he wants to remember this moment. He wants to remember how some of Marlene's hair is caught in her mouth and the red rug burns on Tifa's knees. He wants to remember the pain in his sides from laughing and the lingering tingle from their fingers on his skin. He wants to remember the euphoria that makes him dizzy and the softening of Marlene's gaze on him as she says, "What's wrong, Denzel?"

He shakes his head, blinking at the hair in his eyes. "Nothing."

Then she leans down and gives him one last hug, whispering in his ear, and this embrace means more than all the ones before. He records every detail in his mind because he thinks, for some reason, that this might be very important.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

They see the HHI Headquarters miles before they reach it, the huge block building of light-gray concrete rising out of the empty plains like a mountain. It isn't particularly tall, maybe only three or four stories, but it is _wide_. It's intimidating to look at, standing there boldly reflecting sunlight off the almost continuous stretch of windows around what Denzel takes to be the top floor. The bottom half of the structure is featureless and he wonders what's inside. What is such a secret that it must be isolated from the outside world? Maybe there's a fighting arena, with cages of monsters that he'll learn to defeat, and the reason the place is 45 minutes from any town is to protect people in case the monsters escape. There's the scent of sweat—of battle (or what he imagines battle to be like)—and he realizes that it's him. Is he that nervous? He clenches and unclenches his fists, envisioning a sword in them. He glances sidelong at Cloud, who, as usual, looks completely lost in his own thoughts. Does he feel bad for lying to him? For lying to Tifa and Marlene? He's not sure. _They wouldn't understand_.

Sighing, Denzel leans back further into the cushioned seat of the family truck, listening to the monotonous rumble of the engine. They are driving fast down the dirt road, kicking up puffs of dust that sprinkle the windows, but it still seems too slow. He shifts in his seat a little, the fabric of his jeans and t-shirt rustling. "Why couldn't we have taken Fenrir?"

Cloud blinks, shakes his head, and seems to remember than he is driving with Denzel beside him. "Didn't you ask me that already?"

"Yeah, but I'm bored. Fenrir is so much cooler. You coulda tied my suitcase to the back or something."

"Nobody is tying anything to the back of my bike. Fenrir wouldn't like that."

"It's not like Fenrir can talk."

Cloud glances at him briefly, expression sober. "He talks to _me_." And his voice is exceptionally deep and dramatic.

Denzel snorts, trying not to laugh at Cloud's fake seriousness, but then he realizes that it might be _real _seriousness and he scrunches his eyebrows up suspiciously. That's when he notices the corners of Cloud's lips are slightly upturned. _Phew…_ He starts laughing again.

When his laughter subsides he settles back in his seat, staring at the growing building ahead of them. It's the only feature of note in the landscape, and even though he's tired of looking at it, his eyes are hypnotically drawn to the large windows of the upper floor. Is someone behind that glass watching them approach? Will he be standing there soon, looking out at the rear of Cloud's truck as Cloud drives toward the horizon without him? _I won't be the same when you come back, Cloud. I'll be better. I'll be a hero._

"You nervous?"

Denzel realizes Cloud is looking at him, and wonders how he manages to do that while staying on the road. "No." _Riiiiight._ He looks down at his hands, starts cracking his knuckles, rubs them against his jeans because his palms are wet.

"Don't worry, you don't have to lie about it. It's normal to be worried. You've never been to camp before."

Denzel gives a timid smile. "Thanks, Cloud." And then he looks quickly out the side window, because it's easier to hide that way.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Cloud gazes up at the building, chin tilted upwards and eyes squinting in the sun. His hair almost seems to glow in the light. "I wonder where people get the money to build things like this," he says, and Denzel thinks he is probably talking to himself. "Half of Midgar is in poverty and there are still people with the money to make ridiculously large buildings." After a pause, he shakes his head and looks down at Denzel, smiling shyly. "Sorry, let's go Denz."

They walk into the lobby of the HHI Headquarters together, pushing through a large glass door into a room without windows. The walls are a creamy sort of yellow, the kind of color that people use when they are attempting to force happiness into a place. There's a low coffee table in one corner, with painfully bright red couches around it, which is countered by a staircase at the other end of the room. In the center, is a white semi-circle secretary's desk. It's a desk that demands a knockout girl behind it, but instead there is a burly man with red hair and a long beard. He throws the entire room off.

"Hey kids!" the man's voice is like an amplified grumble, and as he stands, Denzel sees the Hawaiian shirt he is wearing with huge orange and blue flowers on it. The pattern suits the chipper color scheme of the room.

Cloud drops the suitcase loudly, his face expressionless, but Denzel can tell that he is annoyed. He's standing in that superhero stance of his, legs spread apart and knees bent so slightly under the loose black pants that it's almost impossible to see. "I'm here for the camp."

"A mite old for a kid's camp, eh?"

Cloud blinks and Denzel is sure he hears his teeth grinding. "For Denzel. I called to register him last week."

Cloud called? He hadn't even known that. A twinge of extra nervousness twists something in his stomach. He glances up at Cloud, who is wearing the "tough guy" face that he saves for people he doesn't particularly like. It matches the superhero stance perfectly and consists of lowered brows, a thin hard line for a mouth, and an intense glare. But it calms Denzel a little because he's sure it means Cloud doesn't suspect anything. Ren had promised that it would be impossible to tell the "summer camp" front was only a cover, as long as Denzel didn't give it away.

"Haha, man, I know," Mr. Red Hair is saying. "Just a little joke. I remember you from that time you came to visit. We've been expecting the little sprite."

_Sprite?_ _What the hell was a sprite?_ And Cloud had already visited the place? His palms start sweating on overdrive and he rubs them on his pants (for the fiftieth time today), wondering if this is such a good idea after all. A month with this nutcase. Was becoming a hero really that important?

The red-headed cuckoo is coming toward them with a huge toothy grin showing through the bush of hair on the lower half of his face. Denzel smells cigarette smoke. "Come here kid, let's go meet the others."

_I'm_ _not a kid either, freak._

He looks at Cloud and rolls his eyes, to which Cloud replies with an amused smile before he shrugs. "He _seems_ pretty harmless. Can't be that bad. Just talks a lot. Jenkins, right?"

"Yeah man, you remembered. Don't worry, I'm a nice guy." He waggles his eyebrows.

"What do you think, Denzel?"

He takes a deep breath and shrugs nonchalantly. "It's okay, Cloud. I'll be fine."

Cloud nods once and gives Jenkins a final glare. "I'd just like you to know that I have a very large sword."

Jenkins grins and winks. "Yeah, I remember. You were lugging it on your back last time." His voice is level—well, level like a straight gravel road is level.

"Yeah, but it's really, _really_ big."

Waving a hand, Jenkins nods, "Okay, okay. I got it, man. I'll take care of your kid. Don't be such a mother. The boy'll be fine."

Cloud grunts, nods once, and finally breaks the tension, wrapping an arm around Denzel to give him a hug. Denzel looks up and smiles. "See ya, Cloud," and he almost forgets to say it because he is distracted by the strange look in Cloud's eyes, a sort of sparkle that he's never seen before. It's familiar somehow, and he tries to place the look.

He remembers. His dad looked at him that way on his first day of school—how many years ago?

Swallowing, Denzel glances at the tiled floor, and then back at Jenkins, listening to the swishing of Cloud's pants as he walks away and then the silence that follows when Cloud is gone. It is just the two of them together in this big, fake, happy-looking room. He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and thinks that this is the first moment of something new. With an even stare, he says, "Not many people can see Cloud's sword, face his look-of-terror, and not cringe."

Even under all the hair, Denzel can detect the solid set of Jenkins' jaw. "I ain't many people." He reaches over and picks up Denzel's suitcase where Cloud had left it, throwing a, "Let's go, kid!" over his shoulder as he heads towards the stairs.

Denzel follows, still remembering that last look in Cloud's eyes. He clenches his fists and runs a few steps to catch up. Time to become a man.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Jenkins leaves him in a room that looks like it is meant to be a cafeteria, long tables with attached benches forming rows. But there is no food. Just a handful of kids sitting around waiting. Most of them aren't talking to each other… just waiting…

"What am I supposed to do?" Denzel asks.

Jenkins shrugs. "I dunno. Meet people or something. I'll take your bag to your room."

Denzel gives him an unsatisfied look.

"Just wait for Ren!" And then Jenkins is turning and walking away, Denzel's suitcase swinging casually at his side.

Denzel peruses the room through squinted eyes. They are only on the second floor so there are no windows, just more happy yellow walls. The place smells sterile and clean. He takes in the kids there, all looking about his age. Some glare at him when they catch him staring, and he lets his eyes drift away, continuing to scope across his surroundings.

He stops when he sees her.

Not just his eyes, but everything stops. The air stops cycling through his lungs, his fingers stop fiddling with the zipper on his jacket, his mind stops sizing up all the guys in the room and trying to figure out how many of them he can beat in a fight.

And then, everything starts again and he is sizing _her_ up instead, taking in the light green of her eyes and the black of her hair that traces the line of her chin, and the way her nose turns up just a bit and the slightly rosy tinge of her cheeks. She's leaning against the wall, casually, hands in the pockets of a pink jumpsuit, and he realizes that she is tall—probably as tall as he is. About that time, he also notices that she is looking at him. He smiles.

She rolls her eyes and looks away, expression bored.

_Well, she's got an attitude. _Frowning, he decides that her nose is too big and her cheeks are too hollow anyway. He's about to turn away and find someone who _doesn't_ look scary to introduce himself to, but he pauses with one hand gripping his bangs out of his eyes and his slotted sideways glance still lingering on the girl. He'd promised himself when he came here that he would be strong. _What are you gonna do Denzel? You gonna run away and hide from a girl cuz she gave you a mean look? _

Hell no. He isn't a wimp. He is here to learn to fight monsters and protect the world. Picturing himself chopping off the head of a giant lizard (with a nose that's too big and cheeks that are too hollow), wielding a sword as big as Cloud's (with ease because he is super buff), Denzel takes swift, purposeful steps and stops in front of the girl. "Hi," he says, and it sounds like a command rather than a greeting. "My name is Denzel." He extends a hand.

She stares at it, black hair falling around her eyes. She's wearing a bright pink headband that matches the jumpsuit, but the color does nothing to make her jaded expression softer.

He waits.

She stares.

"Hey. Are you going to shake my hand or what?"

Shrugging, she tilts her head. "Why?"

"Because I'm holding it out to you!" he grits out between clenched teeth.

"That was a risk you took."

He blinks at her, and it's not because of what she's said but because her eyes look so empty. It's familiar. "Hey, what's your name?" He doesn't know why, but his anger is suddenly gone. His extended hand falls back to his side.

Arching a thin eyebrow, she ignores his question and responds with: "You're still here?" She sounds genuinely perplexed.

Shrugging, he lifts his hands behind his head. "I'm a bored masochist. What's your name?" he asks again, a little more forcefully. _That's_ _right Denz, play it cool. You're tough. You're strong. You're colder than her._

"Acadia. Like the spider."

_How fitting._ "Where are you from?"

For the first time, she looks directly at him and her eyes aren't empty anymore. There is something dark and hard in them that he can't name but understands. "Sector Seven," she says, and he's not sure if he knew what her words would be before she spoke them or if it was just a trick of his mind. But it fits. Everything seems to fit.

His eyes widen. "Just like me." He feels stupid for how awestruck his words sound.

"Of course."

"What?"

"Everyone here is from Sector Seven."

_Everyone?_ He looks over his shoulder at the rest of the kids in the room and hears her laughing. It's a dark sort of giggle that sounds contradictory and misplaced. His gaze snaps back to her pale face. "Why?"

"Ren picked us that way. Maybe he figured that since we've all been through so much, we'll be good fighters for his little army. I don't care about all that though." She sighs and casts her gaze to the side, returning to the disinterested demeanor she started with.

His fists are clenched (when did that happen?), and he's wondering how many of the people in this room lost their parents too. He takes a sudden breath, refilling starved lungs. "What _do_ you care about?"

Her eyes narrow but she doesn't look at him. "Revenge."

Revenge? He hadn't thought of that. Who would he even take revenge on? ShinRa for planting the bomb? Avalanche for provoking them and not stopping it? Himself for not saving his parents?

"What's wrong?"

She's looking at him with this expression on her face that's a mixture of confusion and suspicion. He closes his eyes because it feels like she is trying to dive through them to see his thoughts. He wishes he had sunglasses. "I…"

He's saved from trying to figure out what to say next because that's when Ren enters the room, lips curved in a perfectly parabolic smile and saying, "Welcome Everyone!" with a voice strained by forceful projection. He is dressed immaculately, in brown pants with pressed seams and a tan dress shirt that is a tamed-down version of the paint on the walls. "Welcome!" he says again, spreading his hands dramatically. The rest of his body maintains perfect, rigid posture.

Then, a woman steps out from behind him. She is wearing a dark blue, collared tank-top that dips low into her cleavage and tight black pants. Her short blond hair is pulled up, strands of it falling loose, and her alert hazel eyes traverse the room. Denzel knows her… why does he know her? It hits him in a flash of memory—a night almost a year ago, when all the Turks were gathered at Seventh Heaven to assure an angry Cloud and Tifa that the new ShinRa would be nothing like the old one. Denzel had gone downstairs for a glass of water, rubbing blearily at tired eyes. She had been sitting there, at the edge of the group at the bar, and she'd looked at him and smiled. She was dressed differently then, but it is definitely her now.

Their eyes lock, and she seems a little surprised. _She remembers me too…_

"I want you all to meet my assistant Elena, who will be our combat expert," Ren is continuing.

"But you're a Turk!" Denzel shouts. The sound of his own voice surprises him. Where did this anger come from? It feels like his muscles are trying to break through his skin. He hears Acadia gasp next to him.

"Not anymore. I quit the Turks and joined Ren." Her smile is brilliant white and her voice does fake happiness better than the paint on the walls.

"Bossuru! Die ShinRa scum!"

Denzel turns in time to see the wild look in Acadia's eyes and the swing of her arm as she flings a knife through the air, her mouth open to release a vicious shriek as the metal tip spirals towards Elena's heart—

And embeds itself in the wall behind the place where Elena had been standing. Elena rises slowly from her crouched dodge. _How did she move so fast?_ Denzel wonders. He'd barely had time to register what was happening before it was over.

"It's not polite to throw knives at your teacher," Elena says testily. "I told you. I don't work for ShinRa anymore. I work for Ren."

Ren nods slowly, a shocked expression freezing his features.

"I don't care! The Turks destroyed Sector Seven! You don't get to just walk away from that!" Acadia takes a step, leaning forward, arms straight and fists clenched. There is the buzz of muttered agreements around the room and Denzel notices that Acadia's fists aren't the only ones clenched. Some of the kids that were sitting earlier have gotten up.

"I wasn't even a Turk then. I wasn't involved with that at all!"

But it doesn't matter, the tension in the room is escalating with each new person that stands up, an angry glare on all their faces. And Denzel feels something stirring inside of himself. He looks at Elena, at the defensive, almost innocent expression, and narrows his eyes. His legs spread into the fighting stance Cloud taught him. Acadia's voice rings in his ears… "Revenge."

"Enough."

Denzel shifts his glare to Ren.

"Enough!" Ren shouts again. "This will stop now. I brought you all here to do some good. You are the future of our world. You have a chance to bring peace and take away the fear in people's hearts. This is NOT the way to bring peace. I chose only survivors of Sector Seven because I thought you, of all people, would know how important it is not to misuse power. I thought you could handle what I'm going to give you responsibly because you understand."

"Understand what?" Acadia says in tones of melted glass.

"You understand what it means to lose everything. You can have compassion on those hurting in this world."

Acadia erupts in tainted, dark giggles.

"Perhaps you were a mistake," Ren says.

Acadia stops laughing. "No," and her voice is dead serious. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." She looks pointedly at Elena. "I'll stay and I'll learn what _she_ has to teach me."

Ren stares at her for a long moment and then says, "Fine. Then it's time to sleep." He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small glass vile. Turning to leave the room with Elena following, he throws it over his shoulder.

It crashes to the floor in the center of the room, swirls of white fog billowing out from between the shards of broken glass. Denzel barely manages to say, "What?" before the tendrils of smoke twist around his neck and choke him into unconsciousness.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Somewhere in semi-unconsciousness, Denzel gets the strange sensation that he is being lifted into the air. He feels arms underneath him that are too thick to be Cloud's, but for some reason he doesn't care. His awareness sinks into deeper sleep.

Sometime later, through the hazy attentiveness of a dream, he opens his eyes and thinks he sees a needle in his arm but can't feel the prick of its point. And as he tries to follow the hand that holds it he gets lost (where is he?), because the neon-green liquid in that needle is everywhere.

EVERYWHERE.

And something is beginning, something he doesn't understand (what's happening?), but it is like a flood that washes him away—

_He was sitting on his bed, in his room, in his Sector Seven home. His mom was standing in the doorway, backlit from the hallway, tapping her foot with her hands on her hips as he clutched his chocobo blanket and tried not to look so guilty._

"_Why did you do it, Denzel?" she asked in molten tones._

_He stared at his knees and shrugged. "Dunno."_

"_You have to know." Her foot continued tapping and he thought each sound of her toe against the ground was like a whip from his dad's belt._

_With a barely audible voice, he said, "I guess I just wanted to be smart. Like Dad."_

"_Breaking your father's computer isn't smart, Denzel. You're too young to play with adult things."_

_Too young—_

He feels like he is cresting the top of a wave in his mind and he sees the flesh of his arm again, a red pucker-mark where he remembers the needle being, but he doesn't get to yell out like he wants to, doesn't get to ask what is happening, because the wave has passed and he is falling, falling—

_Denzel_ _had never met his grandmother (either of them), but he thought that Mrs. Levy was exactly what a grandmother should be, and he liked to imagine sometimes, as he was sweeping the front steps with an old broom, that they were related. He tried to figure out who's side of the family she would be on, but after the first unexpected tears, he decided it was a detail better left ambiguous._

_She opened the front door and he quickly dropped the broom, desperately wiping his eyes so she wouldn't see the water overflowing onto his cheeks. She smiled gently and opened her arms to give him a hug. "Oh child, you're too young to have to face so much pain."_

_Too young—_

Again he breaks from the memory, frozen in place and viewing veiled surroundings—where is he?—what's happening?—why does he keep—

_He was sitting in a pile of debris and he thought that he had never looked so disgraceful in his life, surrounded by the natives from the slums and blending in perfectly. The people walked around him like zombies. There was a man a few feet away yelling, "Sector Seven has fallen, has fallen!" He looked crazed, with wide black eyes and wild gray hair. Denzel shivered and held his knees closer to his chest. Something metal gleamed under a pile of scattered papers beside him._

_Extending a tiny, shaking hand, he pulled it out, gasping and dropping it immediately. A gun. It was a gun. He glanced around frantically, afraid someone had seen him._

_But_ _no one had. They didn't care. They were desperately trying to save themselves and they would trample each other to do it. Like that girl with geostigma in the tunnel. Everyone had been afraid to touch her, but they weren't afraid to watch her die._

_He reached out for the gun again, closing each finger over it slowly and deliberately. He was alone. He couldn't be too young anymore—_

He takes another breath of air at the surface of reality, and there is the brief feeling of cold metal under his back, a featureless face bent over his, and then he goes under once more. But this time it is different, this time the place isn't _his—_

_They are standing in a clearing, surrounded by a circle of trees and there is a hooded man in front of him, tall and solid like a mountain, like he has grown out of the ground itself and cannot be moved. "**Denzel**," he says, and his voice seems to echo through both the cold night air and his mind. "**It didn't have to happen**."_

"_Who are you?" Denzel feels frantic, terrified, and he doesn't know why._

_The man takes a heavy step forward, and the earth shakes with the impact. His thick brown robes hide his form but Denzel thinks he sees the briefest glint of metal over his shoulder._

"_**Denzel. It didn't have to happen.**" _

"_Who are you?!" His voice is a desperate shriek._

_The man speaks again. It feels like the polished metal of a sword sliding broadside against his mind. "**Denzel. Who's to blame?**"_

_Denzel_ _grabs his head and tries to back away, but he can't move._

"_**Who is to blame, brother? I'll give you a clue. It isn't ShinRa.**"_

"_LEAVE ME ALONE!"_

Then everything is fading, and there isn't the tide of another memory coming in or the briefest image of a white room or a needle in his arm; there is only darkness.

In that darkness, Denzel cowers, shivering with the cold of confusion, a directionless, unexplainable, need for revenge, and a feeling that "too young" will never be an excuse again.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: The reference to Cloud having met Jenkins previously is in chapter one, just in case anyone was wondering.

Bossuru is romaji (Romanized Japanese) for "die."

This chapter was so incredibly difficult to write. I rewrote many parts many times, which is why it took so long. I really had to rip it out of myself. A chapter like this is where I might normally give up for a while, but I'm just too attached to this story. I'm determined to finish. Most of the set-up work is finally done, so things should be speeding up now.


	8. A Turning of the Mind

**A/N: Because a predator can always become prey, and sometimes it's the cornered prey that can become most terrifying…**

Takes place two weeks after the last chapter.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Part 8 – A Turning of the Mind**

"Oi, Sevi, the moon is full tonight."

Sevi tilts his head upwards, the hood falling back onto his shoulders to reveal cropped brown hair. The s-shaped scar on his right cheek twists as he smiles. "It's nice. It makes the world a little less dark." Solid lean arms under the sleeves of a dark robe stretch up toward the night sky, popping bones under heavy muscle.

The other man leans over a small fire, poking at the kindling with the tip of a dagger. "At home, I have these glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. My mom leaves them there and when I come to visit, I rearrange them to make constellations. My favorite was always the big cup. What do you think it's filled with?" His voice is excited and he looks over his shoulder at Sevi with shining green eyes that stand out brightly against the dune strewn backdrop of the empty desert wilderness.

Sevi shifts in the sand, trying to seat himself more comfortably. He bends one knee up to his chest and drapes an arm over it. "Tinu, your mother is dead and your house burned down during the war. And I think it's a dipper, not a cup."

"Oh." Expression drooping, Tinu turns back to the fire. He fidgets with the sleeves of his long robe. "Yeah… that's right, isn't it?" A pause. "Hey, how much Life's Blood is left?"

"You need a shot already?"

He pokes at the fire, looks up toward the clustered outline of city buildings on the distant horizon. "No. I was just wondering."

"Three vials."

"We're low back at the main camp too, right?"

Sand scratches the inside of his nose as Sevi inhales a deep breath, tipping his head backwards to squint up at the austere-clear night sky. "Yes."

"Do you think the ShinRa kid will give us more?" Tinu asks, spinning on his knees so that he is facing the other man. His short, scrunched up facial features look worried.

Sevi shrugs, shifts in the sand again. "He always does."

"Yeah, I guess that's right. He's the ShinRa boy, afterall."

"Don't worry. We won't have to do this soon." Sevi pauses and lowers his eyebrows, like he is trying to remember something. He relaxes. "We're going to fix it soon."

Now Tinu smiles, smacking a calloused hand against his forehead. "That's right. We are, aren't we? It will be nice to be needed again. Remember that mission we just finished yesterday? The villagers were so happy we killed all those monsters and there was the cutest little girl who gave me a flower. I kept it in water for a week before it wilted."

"How could you have kept it for a week if you got back from the mission yesterday?"

Tinu taps a finger against his chin. "Well…" He purses his lips. "Hmm, I guess that doesn't really make sense, does it? Maybe I only kept the flower for a day."

"No, I don't think that's it either." Dropping his knees so that he is sitting Indian-style, Sevi leans his elbows against his thighs and cradles his face in his hands. "The flower was yellow, wasn't it?"

"I think so," Tinu says, scratching his wild red hair.

"I think that mission happened six years ago."

"My flower has been dead for six years?"

"Seems like it."

"Oh." Tinu blinks a few times. "We have three vials of Life's Blood left, right?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, there will be more little girls to give you flowers soon. We'll reach Midgar by morning."

"And then the Restoration will begin?"

"Then it will begin."

Tinu claps his large hands together and grins. His face drops suddenly. "Wasn't there something else? Oh… that boy. You can finally ask the ShinRa kid."

"I think he's going to be very important to our cause. I wonder where he came from. The ShinRa kid should know though. He's just… I haven't felt someone like him since… that one… what was his name?"

"Oh, I know this… Umm… that's right, the Traitor."

"There were two Traitors, weren't there?"

"Hmm… yeah, but this one, he had silver hair, didn't he? Oh, got it! Sephiroth!"

"Ah, right. But this kid is different somehow. You feel it, don't you Tinu?" Sevi pulls his knees to his chest and leans back on straight arms.

"Yeah… he… he makes me think of…" Tinu squints down at the ground thoughtfully and shakes his head. He flicks his eyes up suddenly, "Like sand! His mind is loose, shifty, easy to change." Lifting a handful of sand, he spreads his fingers and lets the grains rain down onto the desert floor. Then he crushes the small dune he creates with a booted toe and laughs.

"Sephiroth never seemed that way." Sevi runs a hand over the bristle on his chin and rearranges his legs so that they are spread out straight before him. "But there's something else too… He wants to be someone important…" A thoughtful pause, and then: "Yeah, I think this boy will be useful. I'm glad someone finally woke him up."

Tinu nods. "Hey, shouldn't we get moving again? I'm excited now."

Glancing back up at the moon, Sevi reaches out for the huge sheathed buster sword beside him. "Yeah, let's go."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

When Denzel wakes up in the morning he always feels slightly sick and he's never quite sure who or where he is. There is the sensation of electric currents dancing across his skin and a tightness that spreads from his chest to every muscle in his body. He can feel them all now. Muscles he didn't know he had are suddenly accounted for. It's strange to be so hyper-aware of his body. He didn't know he'd been so… asleep before.

The routine is to roll off the top bunk of his bed and land like a cat on the ground, rug muffling the impact of his feet. The first few days he was here, he climbed down the ladder the old-fashion way, but the third day he slipped and instead of crashing to the ground in an uncoordinated heap, his body instinctually flipped over and he found his face inches from the blue diamond patterns on the floor, braced by his hands and feet.

That was when he first noticed the change. That was when he first knew he was getting stronger.

Standing next to the lower bunk now, he mumbles a "hello" to his groggy-looking roommate (whose name he won't recall until at least another 10 minutes have passed) and enters their private bathroom where he stares in the mirror and tries to remember who he is. At first, he considers his face with idle curiosity. Messy brown hair that is long enough to hide his eyes. Thin, down-turned lips. Brooding expression. Blue eyes that look unnatural somehow. It's usually this feature that helps unlock the key of his identity. _Unnatural as compared to when?_

He squints, presses his nose against the glass, and stares. This close, it looks like he only has one, large, blurry iris, but the color is still vividly, glaringly bright. It didn't always look this way. He is changing.

_They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Does this mean I'm more alive now?_

_**Yes, Denzel. You're finally awakening.**_

He spins around, fists raised, searching for the owner of The Voice.

The Voice always chuckles when he does this. **_Feisty. We like that about you._**

It's then that he remembers that the voice is in his head and that he's been hearing it since the first night he was here, almost two weeks ago. He turns back to the mirror and tries to figure out whether he's insane, confused, psychic, or possibly dead.

The Voice laughs again, and this too is part of their morning routine. **_No, Denzel. You're just special._**

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Breakfast has also become routine. He sits across from Acadia the Spider on a hard cafeteria bench with a bowl of oatmeal and a banana that isn't quite ripe. She gives him a sour expression, complete with puckered lips, and spins her fork lazily over her knuckles as she idly comments: "There's no sun indoors."

He adjusts his dark sunglasses reflexively. "You say that every morning, Spider."

"It's true every morning."

He's been wearing the sunglasses almost non-stop for a week now, ever since he realized he could see with them on, even in the dark, and that without them everything was just too damn bright. He's always thought sunglasses looked bad-ass too, and becoming bad-ass had always ranked pretty high on his agenda.

She pokes through a bowl of cereal as he peels his banana and glances up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I've got a new theory," he says.

She grunts instead of bothering to form words.

"They're drugging our food. That's got to be it. Maybe it's vitamins."

"Vitamins don't give people super-strength." Her chin is in her hand and her lids are draped over her eyes. She looks exhausted.

"Maybe they do."

"You're an idiot."

He shrugs and stares down at the tabletop. With one hand he forms an experimental fist, relaxing it and clenching it again several times before saying, "But I guess it doesn't really matter, you know? I finally feel like I'm getting strong enough to really become a hero."

A derisive snort is the only reply she'll give him.

Even to him, the words sound slightly hollow. There is a tinny edge to them; they don't ring through the air with the same resonance they had two weeks ago. Maybe it's the influence of her sarcastic cynicism. Maybe it's all the hours of sparring practice and weapons lessons. Maybe it's The Voice that still makes him jump every time it thunders through his head. There is the feeling that something inside him is awakening. He's wondering if perhaps The Voice is nothing more than a long-buried part of himself when he hears her speak again.

"You are disgustingly idealistic."

"Hey, did you just refer to me and use the word 'ideal' in the same sentence?"

She tries not to smirk, but he catches just a hint of it at the corner of her lips. But then the expression mutates into the firm set of her jaw and a deep scowl. She places both hands on the table, on either side of her bowl, palms pressed flat, the edges of her fingers white with the pressure.

Denzel follows the direction of her glare to where Elena has just entered the room, chatting with one of the other kids—a boy named Paul that cries every time someone knocks him down in sparring practice, before getting up and beating the crap out of whoever his assailant is with surprising speed and strength.

"Why do you hate her so much?"

Acadia doesn't turn her head. "Because she represents the devil."

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?"

"No." A pause, then: "Why _don't_ you hate her?"

"Because she wasn't a Turk when Sector 7 was destroyed."

"Does it matter? It's only a technicality. If she had been a Turk earlier she would have helped blow it up just like the rest of them."

"You don't know that."

Her eyes turn on him with a steady pine-needle stare. "I do."

He doesn't understand her intensity, even though he's used to it. When he first met her, he'd thought he might share it, but he can't. It's like there is a wall in his mind keeping him from really blaming ShinRa like she does. They were the ones who destroyed Sector 7, and yet…

He doesn't care. Why doesn't he care? He knows he's supposed to. He knows he would have once. But no matter how many times he repeats, '_ShinRa killed your parents. You should want revenge,_' to himself, the words don't mean anything. They are simply ordered sounds that he can't respond to.

And again, he wonders idly if he's insane, confused, psychic, or possibly dead

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

The Voice is always loudest when he's fighting. He can feel it like a forceful undercurrent pulling at the surface of his mind. It is like a frenzied tickle in his thoughts and there is a feeling of intense excitement, but he can't blame that only on The Voice because it comes from him too.

It comes from the adrenaline rush that flows around every kick and punch and dodge. It comes from the flowering of endorphins around every injury, leaking euphoria into his blood.

It comes from the feeling of power and strength. A feeling that pours into every punch, every kick, every sideswiped attack. He gathers that feeling into his legs now, charging toward Acadia and launching his weight forward into a flying kick. She blocks it with the cushioned red pad protecting her arm, black hair flipping upwards and eyes gleaming as she leans down to jab a hand towards his exposed knee. He has to jump backwards to avoid her attack, stumbling a little but not falling—he never falls anymore. When he reestablishes his balance, he is several feet away from her, crouched low with arms raised.

In shocked realization, his mind shouts, _She tried to break my knee!_

Then there is the chilling gust of The Voice whispering through his head.**_ She isn't playing._**

And as he glares at her, eyebrows raised in shock, he sees the clench of her teeth and the tenseness of her fighting stance. Her eyes have changed color. They are gray now. Steely gray like the color of Cloud's sword and just as deadly. He doesn't recognize her as Acadia, but as something else. _Warrior._

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouts.

Shaking the sweaty hair out of her eyes, she says simply, "Fighting."

They are supposed to be sparring, both of them wearing red foamy padding over all their vitals. This is supposed to be for practice, not injury. He shoots a glare at Elena, who is supervising from the edge of the blue mat, but her expression is neutral and she doesn't look about to intervene. In the peripheral of his vision, he catches the scattered looks of the other kids: confused, surprised, enthralled.

"You tried to break my knee!"

"Good thing you moved then." Her voice is unnervingly calm.

"But…" He's starting to feel incredibly stupid, not able to understand why this doesn't matter to anyone else. Acadia has always been a vicious sparring partner, but never like this. She's never tried to actually hurt him.

_**This is survival, Denzel.**_

Swallowing hard, and ignoring The Voice's comment, he says the only thing that he can, "Why?"

"Because real life is for keeps. Wake up Sunglass Boy."

He glances frantically at Elena again, but she is still wearing that impassive expression and watching with unconcerned brown eyes. _Life is for keeps…_ Hardening the set of his jaw, he clenches his fists and glares back at Acadia.

_**Survival. What would you do to survive?**_

And he thinks of living in the slums after the Sector 7 collapse, of the grown men stealing food from children, of the geostigma-cleansing gangs that mercilessly cast out anyone with the disease, of the weight of the gun that he carried in his pocket—just in case. He thinks of that and suddenly he is charging forward again with a raw-throated growl, faking right, then left, before dropping low and swinging his leg around to strike the back of her knees…

_**That's right… Survive.**_

She summersaults forward to avoid him but he is already standing, turning, shifting his weight and stepping into a forward thrust with a tight fist. He makes contact with the helmet-padding covering the back of her head.

**_Strike with a forearm to her side. No padding there. You'll break her ribs._**

Sucking in a sharp breath of air, he hesitates. _I can't do that!_

The pause is all she needs to regain her advantage, spinning and kneeing him in the gut. A sharp explosion of pain and he doubles over, blurry-visioned and gasping.

_**Fall backwards!**_

He listens, letting the momentum throw him on his butt and just missing the swing her arm over his head. It would have landed against his ribs if he had been standing. He tumbles backwards to get out of her range.

_**Survival, Denzel.**_

She is really trying to hurt him. He can't think much beyond that realization except to add that he had thought their shared past made them… Made them what? Allies? Friends? Comrades? _I feel betrayed._

He takes a deep breath, the smell of sweat permeating the air, and leans forward for another attack.

_**The ribs. Left side. She leaves them unguarded.**_

He attacks again, throwing a barrage of punches, feet constantly moving in a style that Cloud taught him once. She backs up, dodging and blocking alternatively until he sees her weight shift and he knows she's about to throw another kick at him. It's that moment, that moment when she drops her guard on her left side…

_**Now!**_

He lunges, begins to raise his knee—

And teeters on the fine-tipped point of decision. Teeters and falls as the side of her shin slams into his head hard enough to knock him facedown to the ground.

His unpadded forehead hits the floor with a force that shatters the world around him and plunges him into darkness.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

_He knows he's never been to this place before and yet it is heart-clenchingly familiar. It's the way the sulfur-thick air clogs his lungs and burns his nose. It's the unnatural heat that brushes over his skin like grimy hands. It's the grotesque metallic sculptures of debris that surround him. A hundred yards away, a pillar of fire burns in the sky, exhaling thick plumes of smoke into a starless night. Behind him, city buildings rise up, forming a ring of normality around the smoldering ruins._

_Denzel thinks of Sector 7, but this is not Sector 7._

"_Where?" he murmurs out-loud._

_He doesn't expect anyone to answer, but then there is a booming voice beside him, saying, "The Sector One Mako Reactor."_

_Turning, and nearly tripping over the cracks in the concrete street, he sees the dark, featureless form of a robed man, looming over him with an imposing sense of power. He recognizes him immediately. The Voice._

_And he wants to run away. Wants to turn down the street and hide in one of the still-standing buildings. Wants to pinch himself and wake up from all this. But he's tried pinching before and it's never worked and it won't now._

_He can only manage one-word sentences, but the one word he speaks is the most daring question he can ask. "Who?"_

_He's asked it before, and every time before The Voice has ignored him, but this time Denzel's breath catches in his throat as the tall figure turns and he sees the glow of brilliant blue eyes in the shadow of the man's hood. And then the man is reaching upwards and pulling the hood back…_

_And it's the face of a man, just a man, not a monster like Denzel expects. The features are gaunt, bones too big for the skin stretched over them, eyebrows thin and arched, nose narrow, cheeks jutting out, and chin angled. But the most striking feature of all is the scar, the s-shaped scar traced in hard white onto the tan skin of his right cheek. The mouth moves. "I am you… in a sense. We share something that makes us special."_

"_Why…" he pauses long enough to swallow, to force his voice forward, "Why are you in my head?"_

"_To help you."_

"_Why?"_

_The man smiles, and it makes the scar stand out in sharper relief. "Because you belong with us. You're one of us."_

"_One of you?" He blinks, coughs suddenly on the acrid air._

_The man doesn't answer. He is staring at the fire that would be several blocks away if there were still buildings and streets between them and the flames to measure by. Finally, he says, "The clarity always amazes me when I remember."_

_Denzel tries to figure out where they are again. The man said Sector One. That means Midgar. "What happened here?" he asks suddenly, his voice sounding too sharp._

"_You don't know? The mako reactor was destroyed by a terrorist group. They planted a bomb and it took out the reactor and a five-block radius around it by the time everything was over. The initial explosion didn't do that much, but within a half-hour the fire had gotten to the base of the reactor core and then… boom."_

_Terrorist group. The polluted air is suddenly not just difficult to breathe, it is suffocating. Denzel coughs, grabs his throat with his hand, eyes burning as he gasps. He'd known that the Sector One Reactor was one of Avalanche's first jobs. It wasn't a secret. But he'd never realized, never understood, how truly devastating the attack was. It had been a casual fact, overshadowed by the massiveness of his own tragedy, but now it is different. Now it is real. It feels like his insides are twisting up, torqued tighter by every strained breath he takes._

_The members of Avalanche were murderers._

_The man's jaw visibly tightens, muscles broadening under his skin as he clearly pronounces his words: "Avalanche. They started a war."_

_Denzel jumps slightly at the sound. The man is watching him through cold, emotionless eyes. "After this, Sector 7 happened," he continues._

_So this is where it began. The first link in a chain reaction. The first senseless slaughter. He'd always thought that surviving the Sector 7 destruction was the thing that made him special, but for the first time, he realizes that isn't true. The people who died here were just like his parents. His fists are clenched tight, warm liquid oozing out from under the fingernails pressed into his palms, and with trance-like glazed eyes, he looks up and he whispers, "We can't let this happen again."_

_The Voice speaks one last time, and it jars him out of his dazed stupor, chilling his skin despite the fire-seared air. "Who's to blame, Denzel? Think about it."_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"Denzel? Hey, wake up."

He opens his eyes enough to squint at the concerned features of Elena hanging over him like an interrogation lamp and says the first words that scroll through his mind. "It doesn't make sense. Don't people mean more than the planet?"

"What?"

"It's so stupid. They didn't care that people were going to die. What if I had lived near the reactor? I could have died and they wouldn't have cared." His fingers feel cold and wet against the tiled floor. "That's… inhuman."

"Hey, kid, what are you talking about? Get a hold of yourself."

His voice is a whisper and he's not sure if he's speaking in his mind or out loud. "And if they had thought it would help their cause, help them save the stupid planet, they would have been the ones to destroy Sector 7. They… they would have done it. They would have killed my parents, me, anyone. They…" He stops, throat closing and eyes wide open now, but it takes him a few moments to realize that Elena is still bent over him and to notice the crinkles between her eyebrows. She looks so bright, like her skin is glowing, and he reaches up a tentative hand to feel the bare skin around his eyes before leaning up on his elbows and scanning the floor for his sunglasses. They are lying a few feet away. He grabs them and puts them on.

"You're speaking gibberish. We all know who destroyed Sector 7." Acadia's voice shoots over Elena's shoulder. Her fists are balled and her stance is wide, forehead still glistening from the heat of their sparring match. Sparring match. He had been fighting her, hadn't he? And then she'd hit him and he'd passed out. He didn't listen to The Voice's advice and she'd hit him.

And he chuckles, and it's a sound he's never heard himself make before. It's hollow and sooty, like the ashes of a fire. He tilts his head at Acadia. "Do we?"

"What are you… I can't believe…" She shakes her head. "You're disgusting." Acadia has taken a step forward, so that she is standing over him, opposite of where Elena is kneeling.

He sits up, and leans back on straight arms with locked elbows. "That's a nice thing to say."

"Oh, cut the morbid humor. And cut this innocent, 'poor-me-I-don't-know-who-to-blame' crap. ShinRa. Killed. Our. Families. What don't you get?" Her breath is quick, strained.

Truly confused, he says, "I don't know."

There is the sound of her quick exhale and a guttural growl.

"My parents worked for ShinRa," he adds. And his words are hard and cold.

"Denzel."

Flinching, he glares back at Elena kneeling next to him. She's got a hand on his arm. Why is she touching him?

"I think we should talk to Ren."

What can Ren tell him? They have private interviews with Ren regularly, as part of their 'training'. Each one is an endless rant about how important being a hero is and how it's their job to help and protect people. He rocks to his feet in one smooth motion and turns to Acadia, who is red-faced and rigid. "Whatever," he breathes out.

His footsteps are purposeful loud clicks against the floor as he leads the way out of the training room.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"That was a nice conversation with the boy earlier." Sevi comments idly as he watches the numbers above the elevator change. He and Tinu are in the new ShinRa tower, on their way to meet the ShinRa head. "I think we had a real connection."

"Do you think he'll help?" Tinu asks.

"I think so."

"But we only have two vials of Life's Blood left now, right?"

"Yes, but we're going to see the ShinRa boy to get more, remember?"

"Oh… yeah…"

They stand in silence, Tinu fidgeting with the belt of his robe and adjusting the hood so that it hangs lower over his forehead.

"You're nervous, aren't you?"

Meeting Sevi's sideways glance, Tinu nods.

"Don't worry, I'll do the talking."

With a loud 'ding', the elevator door slides open. Robes swishing loudly against the fabric of their combat pants, both men step out into the hallway. It is well lit, with cream-colored paint and pictures of panthers and other predators on the walls—a subtle detail, but one that always makes Sevi smile at his master's ruthlessness. At he end of the hall, centered in an open doorway, stands the figure of a man, tall and lean and dressed in the hard straight lines of an expensive black suit. Rufus ShinRa.

Sevi and Tinu take hurried steps toward him, dropping to one knee and bowing their heads when they reach him. "Sir," Sevi's deep voice says, "We've come."

"I see that." Rufus steps aside, gesturing toward the doorway, waiting for both men to nod, stand, and enter before shutting it behind him. "What do you need?" Rufus asks, and his tones are flat, caustic, as he walks toward his large, ornate desk and leans back against it. The desk is like an island in a lavish ocean, a fortress and the most distinguishable feature in the room. Without it, the molding on the walls might be intricate and the thick navy curtains might be exquisite, but with it everything else becomes a nondescript backdrop.

"Sir, we are almost out of Life's Blood. And… all the dealers are out." Sevi responds. His hands are clasped before him, hidden in a drape of dark fabric. Beside him, Tinu is playing with the dagger holster strapped to his arm, opening and closing the snap repetitively.

"That's expected. The mines have been suffering. Reno will meet you downstairs in the lobby with a new batch."

Sevi nods. "Thank you, Sir. I… hmm… Oh yes, we're ready now. The others have been gathered. Once we bring back the Life's Blood for them we can come home. It… it will be like it was when your father was here. Things will be restored."

Blue eyes hardening and fingers tightening around the edge of his desk, Rufus shakes his head. "No. Not yet."

A hurt look darts across Sevi's face. "Why, Sir? We're ready."

"It's not time yet. Wait until I tell you."

"I don't understand." His voice suddenly changes, the edges of it sharpening. "We want Life's Blood to flow in the city again. We're ready."

Rufus' features are made of stone. "Not yet."

"I can't wait," a vibrato voice suddenly mutters. Tinu takes a nervous step forward. "The boy was raised by the Traitor and we finally have him. We can kill the Traitor." A pause. "I want to kill the Traitor. Please?"

"The Traitor is complying right now. He's useful alive."

The sudden swish of fabric slices through the air as Sevi throws back his hood. "That… that's not right." His eyes dart about, jittering around the room before suddenly closing. They open again. "Mandate number two. Destroy all Traitors." His voice is chillingly quiet. "Mandate number one. Protect the empire at all costs."

"I am the empire."

"Then the empire is weak." Sevi's tone his threatening, the s-shaped scar bright against his pale skin. "We will rebuild it. And the boy—who is the boy?"

"What boy?"

"Denzel."

Rufus clears his throat suddenly and pushes off the edge of his desk so that he is standing straight. "How do you know about Denzel?" His expression is so solidly neutral that it looks forced.

"We can feel him. He's awakening. And he's strong, stronger than the Traitor even. Don't you see? It's time. We can do it now..." Sevi smiles. "It is time."

"Not. Yet."

"You say that every time. But we've been waiting for… for… many years. We've finally found all the remnants now. We have our army. We're tired of waiting… and we're hungry." His eyes sparkle. "We want Life's Blood to flow freely again. And Denzel, he is young and he reminded us."

"Reminded you?"

"Of what it's like to want to change the world. He aspires to be a hero," Sevi says. Tinu nods enthusiastically next to him.

ShinRa scoffs. "Heroes always die."

"Then we will die." And Sevi says it like it should be obvious.

"Then you will. I've made a mistake, I see. It's time for you to go. Reno will meet you downstairs with the mako." He pauses, and then adds one word with a stark sense of finality. "Goodbye."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

They walk on the outskirts of Midgar side-by-side, the low dilapidated buildings walling them into the dusty roadways. Their tall forms look both ominous and weary in the mid-day sun, with clumps of mud on the toes of their boots, frayed edges forming fringes on their robes.

Reaching out a trembling hand and clasping Sevi's arm with fingers that won't quite lock in place, Tinu stops walking. "Sevi… I need…" His voice cracks and he leans forward, breathing heavily.

Sevi slips the bag he is carrying off his shoulder, throwing back the cameo-colored flap and palming a small vile of liquid. Turning towards the convulsing fingers trying to grip the fabric of his sleeve, Sevi slides his hand up Tinu's forearm and pushes the needle into his skin. Tinu's eyes widen fractionally and then his face relaxes as the Life's Blood begins to flow into his own blood.

Slumping against his friend even more, Tinu smiles. "Thanks. That was nice. Not like the shot my doctor gave me last week because I stepped on a nail. I was crying so much and my mom held my hand. They gave me a Chocobo band-aid. That wasn't so bad because I like Chocobos."

"Tinu…"

With a long exhale of breath, Tinu straightens, supporting his own weight again. "I'm doing it again, huh? That didn't happen last week."

"Don't think so."

"Oh." Tinu adjusts the sword holster hidden under his cloak. "Okay then, I think I'm ready."

They continue walking.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Denzel sits in a cushioned seat in Ren's office, hands stuffed in his pocket and staring at his knees. This is so stupid. It's like getting sent to the principal at school. He's not a little kid anymore. It feels like he's grown a year for every day in the last two weeks. He pushes a heavy, frustrated sigh through his nose. His mind feels off-kilter, tilted, and he tips his head to try to match the downward slope of his thoughts.

Footsteps and the rustle of cloth pass by him and then Ren is settling into a chair behind the desk that separates him from Denzel. He clears his throat. "Elena told me what happened. I'll speak to Acadia later, but she said you were uncharacteristically confrontational."

Scoffing, he peers up through stringy hair. "What does that mean?"

Ren's fingers flit about the objects on the tabletop, straightening a notepad, rearranging a pen, moving a stapler. "You seem… agitated," he says, "Is everything alright?"

Denzel wants to laugh at the irony of that. _Me agitated? You're the spaz, _he thinks, but he shrugs, keeps an impassive air about him, and responds with, "Wonderful. I'm just trying to figure out whose side I'm on," as casually as possible.

"Whose side? I don't understand. You came here to be a hero, to help people. You're on the side of good."

It was true, when he first came here that was all he thought, but it's not enough anymore. He feels like he's waking up from a dream, and maybe it's The Voice doing the waking and maybe he really is crazy, but… "But what does that mean?" he asks finally, hands leaving his pockets and gripping his knees.

"It means…" Ren pauses, eyes up at the ceiling as he runs his fingers through his slicked-back black hair. For a moment he seems to be somewhere else, and his lips press together tensely before his attention returns. "It means you protect people from danger."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tinu is a big man, with thickly muscled arms and legs, so when he falls to his knees suddenly, it throws a cloud of dust into the air with a loud 'thump.'

"Tinu?" Sevi squats beside him, balancing on his toes.

A heaving cough, a few gasps, and then a small voice says brokenly, "Somethin's wrong…" Tinu's arms are wrapped tightly around his stomach and his eyes are squeezed shut, drops of sweat tracing trails down the dust on his cheeks.

"What is it?"

"Like… like… poi…son. Inside. Like venom. Snakebite." Tinu shutters, bending lower so that his forehead touches the ground. "Mom… please make the pain stop. I won't play outside alone anymore, but Freddy dared me… told me I was scared…"

"Tinu!" Shaking the man gently, Sevi suddenly notices the exposed hands digging into the ground. The veins are pushing up under the skin, colored in a bright greenish-yellow. The wrong color green. Mako was darker, purer. But this was something else.

A ragged gasp, a whimper, and it comes from both men simultaneously, because Tinu is inside Sevi's mind, screaming.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"But what if you don't know who the enemy is? How can you protect people from danger?" Denzel asks, and he is disgusted with how meek and uncertain his own voice sounds.

With a tone of absolute certainty, Ren responds. "The enemy is anyone who hurts innocent people."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

It's like his veins are exploding under his skin, and Sevi drops to his knees beside his collapsed friend, gasping. The pain belongs to Tinu, but he feels it all through the temporary psychic link Tinu's mako high grants. He feels it all and it is the most excruciating experience he has ever had.

Bracing his upper body with straight arms, he stares down at the writhing form next to him. The eyes are rolled back, leaving bone-white emptiness where green should be. "Tinu?" he says in a voice sounding husky and alien. Thin green lines form cobweb outlines across the skin of Tinu's face. Reaching out a shaking hand to touch a marred cheek, Sevi suddenly realizes what is going on.

The mako was poisoned. The ShinRa kid betrayed them.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Denzel shakes his head with furious tension and he feels like a kid having a temper tantrum but he can't stop himself. There is the feeling that everything around him is wrong, skewed somehow, even though the HHI logo on the wall is precisely level and the pens on Ren's polished desk are lined up perfectly. But it all feels surreal anyway, like a waking dream. "It's not that simple. The people I trusted were murderers. And you know the best part? I knew that all along, I just suddenly realized I care."

Ren leans forward, straight-backed and hands folded. "Who are you talking about?"

Ren's words are nothing but compression waves in the air, bouncing off the overflowing chaos of Denzel's brain. He furrows his brow, shifts in his chair, digs his nails deeper into his knees, and continues speaking with a distant, monotone voice. "I wanted security so bad that I didn't even want to see…"

"See what, Denzel? I don't know what you're talking about."

The words suddenly break through the braided cords of his thoughts and he snaps his head up, staring at Ren through the dark sunglasses but seeing him with such unnerving clarity. His skin is too white, his hair too black, and the contrast hurts Denzel's eyes. It's just like the sound of Ren's finger tapping against his thigh, which is boring holes through Denzel's ears amidst the silence of a soundproof room. "Why am I like this? What did you do to me?"

"Do to you?"

"I'm changing…"

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Sevi's cheek is pressed against the dirt, the acrid taste of sweat and mud mixing in his mouth like a cursed elixir. The taste seems to spread down his throat, filling his entire body with a sour wretchedness, coiling in his stomach like a venomous snake, consuming him from within. His fingers clench numbly at the ground, groping forward until they find thick fabric. Slowly, he opens his eyes, the wrinkles of a robe filling the field of his vision.

It is silent. So horribly silent.

Swallowing the bile rising at the back of his tongue, Sevi tries to move and his muscles creak like a warped door closing on rusty hinges. Tinu is dead. He's on his knees now, staring at the lifeless form, the green bruised skin of the wide features contorted so that it looks like Tinu is still screaming. But he isn't. It is silent, and Tinu is dead.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"Why? Why do I suddenly feel awake? Why are all the kids here getting so strong? That first day… that first day after we first arrived, you drugged us in the cafeteria. Maybe I forgot. My mind gets so groggy sometimes, but I remember now. What did you do to us?" The feeling is back in his voice as Denzel speaks, high-pitched and frenzied.

In quiet, delicate tones, Ren says, "I told you when I first recruited you that you'd have to trust me. You said you would."

A bitter laugh. "I don't know who to trust anymore."

"Then maybe it's time for me to tell you. We've been injecting you with mako."

Denzel doesn't know what to say. The frustrated confusion cascades out of him like an avalanche, leaving only numb, icy, coldness behind, along with a memory. It's the memory of himself standing outside of Cloud and Tifa's room, listening to Cloud, the impenetrable Cloud, speaking nonsense in the trembling voice of a child, and a whispered word: "Mako."

Completely drained, he slouches in his chair and stares at the ground.

"Denzel? Nothing has changed. You are still gaining the strength to be a hero. We've worked hard to minimize the side effects. Remember why you came here."

He doesn't move his head, but lifts his eyes slightly so that he is staring at the edge of the desk rather than the floor. "I'm not sure why I came here. I think I was lost. I thought I might find myself."

"You will. You just have to trust me." And the symmetry of Ren's expression is so precise, lips a perfect horizontal line, eyebrows forming identical acute angles with his eyes, and hair flawlessly slicked back. Too perfect. Reality isn't perfect.

With awkward movements and a feeling that he is not in his own body, Denzel stands and leaves the room.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Sevi doesn't know how long he's been sitting here, one hand pressed to Tinu's massive chest and the other holding the eyelids closed. He keeps expecting another random and displaced story about Tinu's past, but none comes. The sky is darkening, shadows lengthening around him as the sun sinks toward the horizon line, and it seems fitting.

There aren't many people here on the outskirts of Midgar, but a few have passed by, a few have stopped to ask what happened. Each one ran away as soon as Sevi bared his teeth and growled.

His mind is starting to thaw, little chips of shock falling away under the pressure of his thoughts. Since he joined the army at sixteen, he has served ShinRa unquestioningly, and never once has he questioned that loyalty. And now? Now this boy, this ShinRa heir has betrayed him.

Mandate number two. Destroy all Traitors.

This new ShinRa isn't the empire Sevi knew. It isn't the empire Tinu loved. It isn't the empire the SOLDIER remnants have gathered to protect.

That empire is dead. Mandate number one. Protect the empire at all costs.

It's not a restoration they need. It's a resurrection.

With a sharp breath, he blinks suddenly and lifts his hands from the body of his dead friend for the first time in at least an hour. He reaches into his inner pocket and pulls out two vials of green fluid. They are the last two pure mako shots he has, the left-over from the supply he and Tinu had brought for their journey when they left the SOLDIER camp.

"Tinu," he says with the voice of the wind, "I'm sorry, but we have to change our mission. It's more serious now. I know you're going to be sad to miss it. There will have to be a lot more fighting and we'll need a leader to replace the ShinRa boy, but we'll do it."

He flicks his wrist and a dagger flips out from a hidden forearm holster, and in one swift movement he drags the blade across his opposite palm, closing his fist around the two mako vials as blood drips between his fingers. "I promise on the blood of my body, I'll get revenge for you."

He closes his eyes momentarily, opens them again, and returns the dagger to its holster. "We'll need his help. Don't worry Tinu, I'll go talk to him."

And then, in a blur of motion, he's loaded the vial into a needle and is pumping the fluid into a swollen vein at his wrist.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

_**Denzel…**_

_Shut the hell up and get out of my head, _Denzel thinks. He is sitting on his bed, the room empty and dark, staring down at a photograph that he doesn't need light to see.

_**Please Denzel, we need your help.**_

Denzel sits a little straighter, blinking. This isn't right. The Voice has always been ominous, imposing, forceful. Never pleading. Never asking. "Tell me who you are," he says out loud. "Am I crazy?"

**_No. I was once a loyal SOLDIER to the ShinRa empire._**

A ShinRa SOLDIER. A part of his mind says that he should feel horrified, but that part is held back by something else.

_**Your parents worked for ShinRa too. ShinRa wasn't evil. I know you've been lied to.**_

"ShinRa was destroying the planet."

_**You don't really believe that.**_

Denzel exhales just to disturb the stillness of the air. The Voice is right.

"What about Sector 7?"

_**There were a lot of factors. It wasn't just ShinRa's fault. Only a few people were involved.**_

The Turks. They were the ones who actually planted the Sector 7 bomb. The same Turks that Cloud and Tifa welcome into their bar on occasion. The same Turks that Elena is now a member of. "Why should I trust you?"

**_Because I understand what it's like to feel betrayed and alone._**

And Denzel knows it's true because he can feel it. He can feel the diamond-hard veins of vindication, of treachery and loss, engrained in The Voice. Slowly and deliberately, with each softly spoken syllable clearly pronounced, Denzel asks, "Who is to blame?"

The Voice pauses only momentarily before answering. **_Everyone._**

Body frozen still and mind aflame, Denzel thinks that he's not a kid anymore. He thinks that he wants to take control of his life. He thinks that he's tired of the lies and the confusion. He thinks that he doesn't want to be deceived by people like Ren and that he doesn't want to be fooled by people like Cloud. He thinks that his life needs to change just like his body has. And then he stops thinking.

Silence surrounds the singular sound of a photograph ripping as Denzel tears his family portrait in two.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: Well, there you go. I've been busy lately, so I haven't been able to write or read as much as I'd like.

Some of Denzel's reactions will become clearer in the upcoming chapters. Look forward to some Cloud action in the next chapter.

Do I need to beg for reviews? Seriously, I will. I've been putting a lot into this story and I'm desperate to know what people think. Good or bad. I'll take whatever I can get.

Thanks for reading, as always!


	9. The Power to Protect

**A/N: Because we always hide from the things we fear most…**

Takes place immediately after the last chapter.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Part 9 – The Power to Protect**

_He leans over the wooden sword, using it for support as his lungs suck in deep breaths of crisp evening air. Wet strands of blond hair dissecting his vision, he stares down at the brown earth and watches the sweat drip off his face to make mud._

"_Had enough yet?"_

_Cloud glares up at Zack who is the picture of heroic grace. He's standing in a casual fighting stance, wooden training sword extended to the side and a smile on his face so huge and white that Cloud is sure it would gleam if the sun weren't so low in the sky. But Zack's chest his moving in and out, forming even oscillations, and it's the one clue that tells Cloud he's tired too._

"_Come on! Is that all you've got, Chocobo Head? I thought you wanted me to train you!" His voice is full of exuberant energy and challenge. It makes Cloud think of fire and it burns inside his chest._

_Panting some more and slowly forcing his body upright, Cloud lifts his sword from the ground._

"_Didn't you want to become an awesome First-Class SOLDIER like me?" His eyes sparkle under mischievously raised eyebrows. "How about that Tifa chick? You ain't gonna impress nobody gasping for air like an old man."_

_Cloud narrows his eyes and growls. The first few steps are staggered trips but then he is running at Zack full speed, swinging the wooden blade with all the strength he's got left in his sore muscles. Zack meets the strike with his own sword, spinning around Cloud in one smooth, inhumanely fast motion that ends with him standing behind, an arm over Cloud's shoulder and the sword pressed against his throat. "Good. You're finally getting it, Cloud." The voice is gravelly, sounding brutally bare. "You've got natural talent. You're still pretty weak, but you're graceful, Twinkle-Toes. But the most important skill of a SOLDIER has nothing to do with parries and thrusts and fancy footwork." He pauses, as if for emphasis, and Cloud hears his heavy breath in his ear. He thinks that Zack's enemies must all die in terrible fear. _

"_Well, aren't ya gonna ask me what the most important skill of a SOLDIER is?" The fearful mood lifts like a fog and Zack's voice is again clothed in its usual chipper humor. Maybe Zack's enemies die wondering if he's crazy instead._

"_I thought you would just tell me."_

"_You know Cloud, you really are no fun."_

"_Umm… sorry?"_

"_Yeah, yeah." He lets his sword fall away from Cloud's throat and releases his grip. "Okay, here it goes. The most important skill of a SOLDIER is an intent to win at all costs. Even at the cost of your life."_

_He says it like he's talking about taking a girl out to dinner. Cloud drops his sword on the ground and bends over, bracing his hands on both knees. He's still trying to master this breathing thing. "Really?" he says. "Is that all? It will be no problem then."_

"_That's the spirit!" Zack claps Cloud on the back jovially. Cloud winces._

"_Cuz, I mean, I kinda don't really have a life anyway."_

_For a moment Zack simply stares at him with a blank expression, and it's a look that is familiar to Cloud. He usually gets that reaction out of people when he tries to make a joke and he knows that it's because Zack isn't sure whether he's being humorous or serious. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Cloud smiles a little._

_It's all the encouragement Zack needs to break out in thunderous, rolling laughter._

"_See?" Cloud says, finally catching his breath and standing tall (well, as tall as his somewhat short stature allows). "I can be fun."_

"_You're a flamin' nutcase. I think that's why I like you though."_

_Cloud shrugs and falls backwards onto his butt. It's only halfway intentional. "Thanks for the training." The deal was only for three hours, but they've been at it for four._

"_Yeah, yeah." Zack squints up at the sky, arms crossed, wooden training sword back in the holster at his belt, and frowns. "It's almost dark."_

"_So?"_

_Zack shakes his head, blinking like he's trying to escape something in his mind. "Don't like sunsets. Remind me of my sister and something she said once that I could never figure out."_

_Cloud's instinct is to sit and wait for Zack to continue, but he's starting to learn that what Zack wants most is for someone to care enough to ask. "What's that?"_

_Zack starts, surprised, and smiles. It's not his usual brash, good-natured smile or even his terrifyingly devious one. It's a soft expression shaped by sadness. "There was this riddle she told me once at sunset. How did it go… I'm thinking of something that everyone is born with but not everyone gets to keep. Some people have more than one and some people make new ones but it can't be made alone. And those that realize its value will protect it to the death… Yeah, that was it." He pauses, still squinting at the sky. "She died the next day."_

"_What's the answer?"_

"_I haven't a clue." A sudden deep breath fills his lungs and his eyes drop from the sky like meteors from heaven. "Let's get going. If I miss dinner cuz of you there's gonna be hell to pay."_

"_How much money does hell want?"_

"_Shut up, that was horrible."_

"_Hey, I thought it was funny."_

"_Exactly."_

_Cloud smiles as they walk over to the military truck they took out here to the training grounds, but underneath the expression are thoughts of the riddle that Zack can't figure out and curiosities about the sister he lost._

_One line stands out most of all: those that realize its value will protect it to the death._

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Sometime later in the night, still in the clutches of sleep, Cloud's dreams turn from memories of Zack to nightmares of something else. It starts with an emerging awareness of the fact that he is sleeping, and that the dark filler between dreams is starting to lighten into an image of a place, like fog clearing from—

_A clearing. He is standing at the edge of a clearing. It is a circle of dirt surrounded by tall trees that look like monsters in the shadows, under a moon that is barely there, allowing only a tiny, slivered casting of dirty, waif-like illumination._

"_Hi, Cloud."_

_His eyes flicker down from the tops of the branches to the green-gem eyes of a tall man standing in the exact center of the dirt patch of land untouched by foliage. The man is draped in long folds of fabric, hood back and a white 'S' glowing on his cheek under wild strings of brown hair. He's surrounded by an aura of strength, of cynicism, of anger._

_Cloud looks down at his feet and sees the line between dirt and grass dividing his heels from his toes, and he feels like he is standing on the edge of something more profound. It feels like that line cuts upwards through his chest, through his mind, through his sense of self, and he looks up, blinking, and asking, "Who are you?"_

"_What you once were, before you betrayed us. A faithful ShinRa SOLDIER."_

"_I was never really a SOLDIER. That was Zack."_

"_But you were faithful once." The man stresses the word 'faithful' with razor-edged tones, snapping a finger out to point at Cloud like he is throwing a knife._

"_That… was before I knew better." Shaking his head, brow furrowed, Cloud presses a flat-palmed hand to his temple. Why is it so hard to think? He glances frantically at the branches of the trees and feels claustrophobic, like the leaves are scratching against his thoughts, muffling his consciousness. He reaches reflexively toward his back and touches his shoulder instead of the slick strength of metal and he notices then how light he feels, how naked his back is. How exposed. He needs his sword. Where is his sword? Last time they'd met he'd had his sword…_

_Last time? Cloud tries to remember, takes a flashlight to his mind and swings it through the inky blackness of his memories._

"_Your brain isn't working so well, is it?"_

_Blue eyes glare with the hardness of eggshells at a steady green sea._

"_I know you blame it on the mako; the boy told me. He told me about the shakes and the fragmented flashbacks and the incapacitating pain."_

_It's then that the pins and needles start, dancing across Cloud's skin like stiletto-heeled ballerinas, boring deeper and deeper, and he's sinking to his knees, arms wrapping around himself, swallowing neurotically like he can ingest the pain away._

"_But you're wrong, you know. It's not the mako that gives you these fits, it's the withdrawal. Mako gives us life, Traitor. When you get greedy and you overdose, you shock your brain into paralysis. When you deny yourself, you abuse your body with the pain you feel now. But the right dose, the right amount, the perfect balance—ahh…" The man's gaze shifts to something behind Cloud, and Cloud hears a rustling in the trees. "This one understands," the man continues, still staring at the thing making the noise and gesturing with his chin. "It gives us strength, power, invincibility. You will always be weak until you accept that." _

_If Cloud could turn and look, he would, but he is shaking so much and his stomach feels like a gyro spinning on a string. So he tilts his head to the side as much as he can and waits for the one making the noise behind him to come into view. And then he sees a thin, long leg, and then another, and then his eyes are traveling up a narrow back to a wild mess of brown hair. And then the figure stops next to the SOLDIER, and then the figure turns, and Cloud sees the face._

_It's Denzel, standing stiffly with an intense but blank look in his eyes that is out of place with his normal baggy jeans and loose t-shirt. There's something else though. His irises are glowing. Convulsing on his knees, Cloud moans, but it is only partly because of the pain in his body. There's only one thing that makes eyes look like that. "Get away from him."_

"_Are you sure you are in a position to say that right now?" the SOLDIER asks in a mocking lilt._

_That's when the flashlight in Cloud's mind finally illuminates the right memory, and he suddenly knows when 'last time' was. Just over two years ago. He was in Nibelheim and he came across a clearing… _this_ clearing… and there were two men there. One a redhead, the other a brunette with an s-shaped scar, and both with mako-eyes and angry snarls. He'd known they were ex-SOLDIERs when they attacked him, and he'd also known he couldn't win. That's why he ran. "What do you want with him?"_

_The SOLDIER smiles and places a hand around Denzel's unresponsive form. "To rebuild ShinRa the way it once was."_

"_Denzel… you have to run… get away!"_

_Denzel doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge Cloud's shouts, doesn't even blink..._

"_He doesn't hear you. I'm in your mind alone. But I wanted you to know, Traitor, that he isn't on your side anymore. I thought it was a mercy to tell you, he will attack you now."_

_Cloud's heart seems to twist in his chest, pulling against his ribs, and he struggles to lift himself to his feet, fighting muscle spasms. He makes it halfway up, body bent, hands on his knees, neck craned forward. "Don't touch him." The words are a snarl, squeezed out between ragged gasps of air. _

_The man smiles. "Maybe you'll finally see it before you die. We're building a better world."_

_And then everything around Cloud is dimming, contrast and brightness draining away, leaving only the spears of pain and a desperate helpless gasping._

"_Denzel…" He has to get Denzel. The clearing. Nibelheim. _

_He has to save Denzel._

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tifa Strife rolls over in bed, letting her arm fall across the space next to her as she always does in her first moments of awareness. Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night and instinctually swings a hand over her body, answered by a grunt from Cloud and a mumbled complaint about her aggressive sleeping habits as her palm connects with the hard plane of his chest. She remembers waking up once, after dreamingly hitting him one too many times, with her hands tied together by his pillowcase. She'd shoved him off the bed in retribution and he'd never done it again.

Other times, her fingers sink into empty mattress, still faintly warm with the ghost of her husband's body. It is like that now, her hand finding only the slightest lingering warmth. He must have left a while ago.

She sighs and lifts an eyelid just enough to see the hazy outline of early morning sun painting shadows on the bunched sheets next to her. Her eyelid falls closed again and she moans slightly as she rolls over once more, wrapping her arms around herself. It isn't strange for Tifa to wake up alone. In fact, she's quite used to it. However early she wakes up, Cloud is usually awake before her. She listens for the sounds of him showering in the bathroom, or the shuffle of his maps downstairs as he plans his daily delivery route, but she hears neither. _Probably outside packing Fenrir_, she thinks.

She tries to remember where he is supposed to be going today, and whether or not he even told her. There are a few deliveries in Midgar that she knows about because she scheduled them for him, but it wouldn't be a surprise if he has a job half a day's journey away that he just _happened_ to forget to mention. Sometimes she'll call him only to find out that he is on another continent, is going to miss dinner, and might not even be back until early morning. He has a childish, selfish obsession with independence, and though it often sends her into a rage, yelling into a cell phone that he has a family and needs to be more considerate in telling them where he is, this is the way Cloud had always been. A little too scared of getting tied down. A little too scared of having his wings clipped.

She rolls her eyes at herself and frowns a little. No use thinking about that too long, right? Cloud is Cloud and she has no regrets about who he is. When her thoughts turn this direction, she is always reminded of a conversation she had with her father when she was a little girl. He had held up one of the little turquoise flowers that grew all over Nibelheim and said: "_Tifa-doll, what do you see?"_

"_Papa! I'm a little girl, not a doll!"_

"_Yes, yes. But what do you see?"_

"_A blue flower with big petals."_

"_Is it pretty?"_

"_Paaapaaa… of course it is!"_

"_But did you know that this flower attracts the bees and that the bees can sting you? Or that when it gets old it will wither and die? Or that when these flowers are young the stems have thorns? Is it still pretty?"_

"_Well… yes. It's my favorite color, so it has to be pretty."_

"_So you'll take the good with the bad?"_

"_Huh?"_

And then her father had smiled with that secretive twist of his lips that told her there was something profound in his words, something she would only understand years later. _"Remember this lesson, Tifa. All things are the sum of their parts," _he'd said. It wasn't until he died that she really took that to heart, grasping to preserve him in the shreds of his wisdom. It was the presiding principal in her mind when she joined Avalanche all those years ago.

Stretching, she pulls back the covers to sit up, squinting a little at the sunlight flooding through the window. Her reflection in the mirror across the room catches her eye, and she gives herself a sly look, remembering the tickle war last night that left her hair in its current disheveled state. Cloud Strife. Expert swordsman. Mako-enhanced super-soldier. Hojo test-lab survivor. And incredibly, wonderfully, ticklish.

It isn't so bad, she decides, despite how frustrating Cloud's habits can be. She tries to give him his space, to be patient, because no matter how far away he goes, Cloud Strife always finds his way home again. It took a few years for her to realize that, but she trusts it now, absolutely and completely. Today will be no different.

She heads downstairs to make breakfast, and when she sees that Cloud and his bike are already gone, she simply shrugs, shakes her head, and goes back to flipping pancakes.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

There is gravel kicking up at the wheels of Cloud's bike, pelting his arms and stinging his cheeks, but behind his goggles his eyes are narrowed, focused on the thickening low foliage ahead of him. The bulge of a mountain, thickly coated in green, rises in the distance.

Nibelheim.

_Over two years ago. That's where I met them. Just at the base of the mountain._

His eyes refocus farther down the tree-lined dirt road, noting the slight incline upwards. He remembers.

_I'd been driving all over the continent for two days straight, scared out of my mind. I just wanted to find something to fight, a monster or something to clear my mind, to help me focus. Everything in my head felt like such a mess and fighting seemed like the only thing that was clear-cut. Yeah, that's right Zack, I'm a head case. _He can almost hear his old friend laughing at him.

_At the end of those two days of playing Cloud-the-Loon, I found myself here, in Nibelheim, staring at that well where it all started. We were still kids then, but she asked me to be her hero anyway._

He maneuvers around the outskirts of the town, trying to catch a glimpse of the well that is its centerpiece, but failing because there are houses in the way that he doesn't recognize, rows of white buildings with red roofs and laundry hanging out the windows. The trees block out the morning sun and immerse him in a dim cocoon. He feels safer in his memories than in this unfamiliar reality.

"_You'll come and rescue me…" That's what she said, swinging her legs happily and fingering the fabric of her turquoise dress. It was a great color. I kept staring at it because it looked so familiar, but it wasn't until she hopped off the low stone wall and turned to leave that I realized why. It was the exact same color as all those blue flowers that used to grow along the roads in town._

He realizes suddenly that those flowers _still_ grow along the roadside. Little specks of turquoise spot the border of green on either side of his bike, and for a moment, it doesn't seem like that long ago. It feels as if all he has to do is reach out his hand, and he can touch their childhood. If he could touch it, would he change it?

He'd wondered that over two years ago, when he'd stood at that well, contemplating his life. It is strange how much places mean to him. When he'd struggled to find himself in the aftermath of Aeris' death, he'd spent countless hours in her church, staring at her miraculous flowers.

_I must have spent hours staring at that well, just trying to work up the courage to ask Tifa to marry me. I had one of those blue flowers in my hand. Every time I looked down at it, I saw her face. _

He remembers walking around the perimeter of the well, fingers lightly dusting the surface. Every revolution wound him up a little tighter until he felt as if he were going to snap. And then, finally, he did. Sword in hand, he'd run into the woods, determined to find a worthy tree to fight.

_I thought the only solution to my nervousness was to propose to Tifa while slaying some sort of vicious, evil creature. Let the sweet power of adrenaline take me. Then I realized she probably didn't want blood on her ring. _

The roadway has started pitching upwards even more sharply, and Fenrir screams with the strain of going uphill, vibrating under him and jarring his tense muscles. They are almost to the clearing, almost to the place where he'd met _them_ those few years ago, as he'd agonized over the possibilities and responsibilities of getting married.

There had been the one with the S-shaped scar and another with messy red hair and wild eyes that flickered like a match as he clapped delightedly and shouted "He's here! He's here!" when Cloud broke through the trees and stumbled into the open clearing. He'd known immediately that they were ex-SOLDIERs. The glow in their eyes was unmistakable. Not clouded and filmy like that of a druggy using something polluted and unrefined. This was clear and sharp and bright, like only Hojo's mako-infusion process could produce.

_Just a little further. _ He pushes the engine's rotations until he feels the drive synchronize into the next gear, tires grinding up a haze of dust as he speeds up. The trees form a thick, ominous wall around him, swallowing the town behind. _A little further._

There. At his left side the trees have suddenly thinned, and he can see open air beyond them. Slowing down sharply and braking hard, he skids Fenrir to a stop, ripping grass and rocks out of the ground. He unloads his sword and dismounts, stepping quietly towards the trees.

_Here. It was here. I came running through the brush not even paying attention to where I was going. Stupid. And then I was standing in front of them, stunned and frozen and—_

He pushes past the trees suddenly, sword brandished, sliding to a halt in a defensive position, eyes darting over gracefully waving grass encircling a stark expanse of sterile dirt.

_--And there's no one here._

He doesn't know what he expected, but he knows he expected something. Not… nothing.

The trees around him undulate in the breeze, rustling in laughter. It's the same clearing. The same as the dream last night. The same place where he encountered the ex-SOLDIERs years ago. But then… then…

_The red-head charged at me and the other, he didn't even move. Instead, he stepped back, stood at the base of a tree across the way… There… stood there and watched. He didn't even have to move because I was losing anyway._

He remembers the frenzied beat of clashing swords and the sharp pain of a steel-toed boot in his side, another in his stomach, another under his chin. He tried every move he had, every trick he knew, and it didn't matter. Nothing he did mattered because he was being pushed backwards with each defense and each failed attack. It felt like a train was slamming into him, over and over, driving mercilessly and tirelessly.

Was this the true power of a SOLDIER?

He remembers sparing a quick, panicked glance at the other one in the shadows, the S-shaped scar his only distinguishing feature from that far away, and Cloud had the distinct impression that the redhead was the weaker of the two. That's when Cloud decided to run. It took a sacrificial sword-slash to the arm to even manage an escape.

He was covered in blood and bruises, barely conscious, by the time he pulled his bike up to the Seventh Heaven later that night. Delirious with healing potions, and giggling like a madman, he pulled the ring out of his pocket and asked Tifa to marry him. There was blood on the box, but he assured her, very proudly, that the jewelry itself was clean.

He never told her what had happened. She asked only once:

"_Cloud? Who did this to you? What happened yesterday?"_

"_I think I had a moment of insanity."_

"_A moment?"_

"_Well, one of a series of moments. Anyway, it was more than I could handle."_

"_So you decided to try to fight whatever 'it' was and get yourself beaten up?"_

"_No. I did what any sensible man would do. I ran like a chocobo and proposed to my girlfriend."_

"_I can't decide which one is the moment of insanity."_

"_The part where you said yes, you crazy woman."_

She never asked again. She seemed to know not to push him about this and he never clarified his vagueness. He didn't want to tell her. Didn't want to because the thought of hearing his own voice describe that fight with the ex-SOLDIER turned his tongue to tempered steel and captured his chest in a heavy padlock that wouldn't let him breathe. There was nothing he could do. He was weak and they were strong.

Cloud sighs and runs a hand over his forehead, grabbing the spikes of his sweat-drenched hair. He suddenly feels very stupid, standing in this clearing alone. He'd felt so sure, so absolutely positive that he'd find something here. After that dream, coming here had been the only thing he could think of, leaving Tifa in bed and driving off during the dead of night.

There had been a tight net of anxiety squeezing his body, leaving him with pins and needles all over. There had also been the distinct knowledge, too clear and certain to be called a feeling, that something was wrong.

The knowledge is still there, waving like a banner in front of his thoughts. Something is _wrong._

Denzel. He has to check on Denzel.

Cloud turns back toward his bike, stopping only long enough to take a delicate blue flower from the side of the road and place it in his pocket before riding towards HHI Headquarters at the highest speed he can manage.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tifa finishes the last of the breakfast dishes, humming a song that Marlene has been singing nonstop for the entire week, and wipes her hands on her jeans. She pushes an errant strand of hair off her cheek and glances up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It's just about time to open the bar.

"Marlene!" Tifa calls, tilting her head in the direction of the staircase.

A muffled voice responds, "Coming!" followed by the thumping of her running down the second-floor hall and down the stairs. A moment later, Marlene slides into the room, barefoot and rosy cheeked. "Ready for action, Commander!" She winks and salutes.

"We're opening a bar, not running a boot camp." Tifa leans down to look the girl in the eye, tousling her hair with lithe fingers and giving her a warm smile.

"Well, why not do both? It could be today's theme! Every customer does five laps around the building before they can eat."

"I don't think that would go over so well."

"And when Cloud comes home, we'll make him do fifty laps for missing breakfast."

Tifa laughs and puts her hands on her hips in mock severity. "Now that sounds like a great idea."

Smirking, Marlene nods, bows extravagantly, and turns on her heel with military sharpness. "I'll go open the bar." She's gone a moment later, with a characteristic burst of energy.

Tifa is about to follow, but the ringing of the phone stops her at the doorway. She picks the receiver up from the wall unit. Maybe Cloud had decided to check in… "Hello?"

"Hey Tifa! Barrett here. I'm guessing it would be too much to expect Spike-o to be around." The voice is even gruffer than usual, strained and tired.

"No, he's not here." She shakes her head, even though Barrett can't see her.

"Don't suppose ya know where he is, huh?"

With a slight smile and a helpless shrug, she fingers the spiral cord of the phone and says, "It's Cloud. The only time I know where he is is when he's with me."

"Aw, blazes, you'd think the man would answer his cell phone once in a while. Crazy fool probably thinks the ringing is a voice in his screwed-up head. I'm gonna teach him—"

"Why? What's wrong?" She realizes suddenly what is grinding through his words. She's known Barrett long enough and through enough stressful situations to identify it. It's the same way he sounded when he told her three years ago that people were mining mako again and he was leaving Midgar to stop them. It was fear. Anger. Indignation. Blended into a rough brew that could only fit a man like Barrett.

"Someone attacked one of the villages here and made a bloody mess. It's ugly Tifa, uglier than anything I've seen since the old ShinRa. I tell you, if Rufus had anything to do with this, I'm gonna show him what all this metal in my arm is really for. And then I'm gonna scream '_I told ya friggin_' so' at the top of my friggin' lungs."

"Barret, calm down. What's going on? Who attacked the village? Why?"

"Don't know who. I can guess why though. The village was a mako-processing center. They take the stuff from the mines and make into Life's Blood to sell on the street. Whoever did it took all the processed mako. They didn't even bother with the raw stuff."

"So maybe it was just a couple of drug dealers?"

"Tifa, I meant it when I said it was ugly. This wasn't the average dealin' fool."

"Then who?" Her throat feels tight.

"Whatever it is, it ain't human. Look, you tell Cloud to get his spiky butt over here as soon as he can. I need his help. He doesn't even have to go that far. I'm only a few hours north of Edge."

"I'll try to get in touch with him."

"Don't try Tifa, just do it. And keep an eye on Marlene for me, okay?" Now the exhaustion is painfully evident, wearing away the quick sharpness of his intonations, leaving something dragging behind, like sandpaper stripped of its grating.

Her hands are tangled in the phone cord, clutching it. "Always."

"Thanks girl. Wallace out."

There is a soft click and the connection goes dead. Her fingers are already dialing Cloud's number.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Nibelheim is a distant spot in his rear view mirror when Cloud's cell phone rings again. He's wondering if it's Barrett calling for the umpteenth time when he looks down at the display and sees that it is Tifa. There is a moment of hesitation in which he breathes deeply of the dry, wilderness-scented air before he picks up.

"Hey."

"Cloud?"

"Yeah."

A pause, then: "Something's wrong, isn't it?" Her voice is tinctured with suspicion. But there's something else; concern and worry are woven into her words. She sounds just a little off-balance, like she is standing on one foot.

Is he that obvious? One word and she can already figure out the state of his mind? "I don't know," he says. And it's true, even if it's not expansive.

"Are you okay?"

"Everything is still attached where it's supposed to be, if that's what you mean."

"That's not really all that comforting. Did something happen?"

"I just… wanted to visit Denzel, that's all. I'm heading over to the HHI Headquarters right now."

"Couldn't you have just called if you missed him that much?"

He feels a little silly because he'd actually never even thought of that, but he's halfway to his destination now and his mind is too agitated to be content with Denzel's disembodied voice amplified through a miniature speaker

"Cloud? You still there?"

There are memories of last night's nightmare snaking in between his thoughts and he shakes his head to push them away. "Yeah. …I just felt like seeing him in person."

"That's sweet and all Cloud, but I wish you would have told me. We could have made a day of it, gone as a family. I miss him too."

_It isn't safe,_ he thinks, without any real justification. He mutters, "sorry" and hopes it sounds genuine.

There is a break of silence, and then he hears her take a slow breath. "No, there's something else…" Her voice drifts off into thought. When it returns, it is quiet and pensive. "You're afraid of something, aren't you Cloud? …Like Barrett is… What's wrong?"

Something inside keeps him from telling her. He doesn't want to say the word "SOLDIER" out-loud, as if by denying it, by restricting its tangibility, he can keep the remnant of ShinRa's military in his mind and out of reality.

"Barrett called you too?" he asks, trying to divert her.

"He tried me when he couldn't get you. You really should answer your phone, Cloud."

"Yeah, I know. What did he want?" Up ahead, the road splits. A bright green sign announces that Midgar is on the right fork. He veers left. He imagines if there were a sign for the road he chooses, it would say 'more endless green fields and rocky dirt road.' He wonders why there are no signs for the HHI Headquarters, even closer to the location. On the whole drive out there with Denzel, he'd never once seen a sign. Denzel…

"He needs your help," Tifa is saying. "There's been an attack on one of the illegal mako refineries, a village not too far from Edge."

His eyebrows rise under his goggles as his mind takes a moment to replay her words so he can understand them. "Isn't that a good thing? I thought he was trying to stop illegal mako production."

"Well, the people who attacked the village stole all the refined mako. He said, and I quote, 'it was ugly'." She sighs. "He really sounded bad, Cloud. I think this might be pretty serious."

He exhales forcefully and feels the crinkling of his leather gloves as he tightens his grip on the handlebars of his bike. Mako. They stole all the mako. "How ugly is ugly?"

"He wouldn't say. I think that means it must have been pretty bad."

"Swords? Guns? Explosives?"

"I don't know. Swords? You're the only one I know who uses a sword as a primary weapon choice. Why would they use swords?"

"Don't think about that too much, Tifa."

"What?"

"I'll give Barrett a call, but first I'm going to visit Denzel."

She sounds a little desperate when she speaks again. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong? You're holding something back."

He tries to tell her, tries to form the words in his mouth, but he can't. _You're scared, Cloud. You know you can't…_ He winces and wipes the sweat off his forehead. The sun is too bright today. He feels blind and helpless. _You can't protect her._ The only part of his thoughts that he manages to voice is a hesitant "I can't…"

"You can't what? Cloud?" And she sounds hurt, so vulnerable and exposed.

He places a hand over the hidden compartment on Fenrir that houses his swords, because he always feels a little stronger when he's holding his sword. "I can't talk. I have to go. I'll call you after I see Denzel. Love you."

He hangs up the phone before she can argue, stuffing it into his pocket and leaning forward to drive as fast as he can away from that fork in the road.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tifa sits down at the small table in the kitchen feeling a little stunned. What's going on? And why won't anyone tell her? Forcefully, she opens her clenched fists and resists the urge to hit something. There's no point in calling Cloud again, not when he's like this. Not when he's in his touchy closed-down mode. _Something must really be worrying him._

She hears Marlene happily greeting the first of the customers in the bar outside and breaths in sharply to force the frown off her face. Debating whether to tell Marlene that Barrett called, Tifa decides it's better not to say a thing. The young girl is so brilliantly perceptive sometimes. She'll know too easily that something is wrong and she'll want answers. Answers Tifa doesn't have.

Marlene's voice drifts through the open doorway: "Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the Seventh Heaven, where we climb to the top to offer the best!"

Tifa stands, the sound of her legs pushing the chair across the floor jarring her nerves, and she smiles. For Marlene. For her family. No matter how hard it gets, she will always smile for her family.

She will do anything for her family.

_Fin Part 9_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**A/N:** Well, _that _update took forever. Sorry about the delay. I was plagued with bronchitis for about two weeks. That did a number on my ability to concentrate and write. Instead, I watched the whole season of BBC's Robin Hood in a week. I enjoyed it immensely.

Thank you all so much for the reviews! It is deeply appreciated. I'm sorry to nag for comments and all. I promise I'm not just asking for it for the vanity value. I'm just desperate for concrit and audience reaction so I can grow as a writer. Thanks again, mates!

Now on to some advertisement: I highly recommend everyone checks out the Genesis Award forum. More information can be found at Pied Flycatcher's profile. There is an annual fanfiction award for the best in FFVII writing. This is a great way to promote good quality fiction. I don't know about you guys, but I'm eager to read the fics recommended for the award.

So, that's all for now. In the next chapter we'll be returning to Ren and Elena… and Cloud will be there too…


	10. A Hero's Purpose

**A/N: Because self-delusions are hard to recognize…**

From here on out all chapters take place immediately after each other. It's all downhill now.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Part 10 – A Hero's Purpose**

_A twig cracked under his foot, tripping his next step so that he stumbled forward between the trees. Crack. Crack. Crack. He imagined the sounds were the creaking of the branches towering far above his head, the trees coming to life. They would reach down and grab him soon, snatching him and his siblings up with rough-barked hands that would scratch their skin and tear there clothes. "I want to go back!" he shouted._

_Ahead, he saw the back of his sister's shoulders rise and then sag. "Calm down, Ren."_

_Behind him came the sound of Zack chuckling._

"_N-n-no! The sun's gonna go _down!" _He emphasized the last word with a widening of his eyes._

"_Renny-poo is scardy-poo!" Zack managed between snorts._

_Clenching his fists, Ren whirled around to meet his younger brother's lazy smile and teasing eyes. "Am not! It's just not s-s-safe." He turned back to find his sister, Maggie, facing him. Her arms were crossed and she had a stern look on her cherubim face. "It's _n-n-not!"_ he repeated, in an attempt to convince her._

"_Are you gonna abandon our mission?" she asked._

The phone rings as Ren mouths the word "no," and he gasps at the sharp noise, blinking with the sudden recognition of his surroundings. His hands grasp at the files on his desk before he remembers what it is he was doing. It takes a few seconds of looking down at the papers in front of him to reground himself in time and space. Denzel. He was reviewing his file on Denzel. The notes of their last discussion. The assessments of his progress. The scores on the ethics tests that Ren had made as much a part of the students' training as fighting practice. Denzel who is missing. Denzel who he lost. Cloud Strife's kid who he lost. All the evidence pointed towards one conclusion: Denzel had been gradually spiraling downward for the last week, and then, suddenly, he had plummeted. Which meant there had been signs. Signs that Ren had missed.

The phone rings again, and Ren picks it up. "Akabori," he states.

"It's your friend from the underbelly. Got a tip for ya, yo."

Straightening, Ren focuses on the smooth, animated voice. "What is it?"

"Two SOLDIERs were spotted wandering near the ShinRa tower."

"Are you sure?"

"Hey, I ain't lyin', yo! Why would I call you if I were?"

"No, no, of course," Ren placates quickly. "What did they look like?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions. Hoods. Robes. Mako eyes. Could see the outline of one of those big-ass swords on the one guy's back."

"You saw them personally?" He's looking for some doubt, some proof that what the man is saying may not be true. After hearing about the attack on a mako processing plant over night, an attack that has all the signs of SOLDIER involvement, Ren is nervous to know that they are now wandering around in Midgar.

"You gotta learn to ask less and listen more. Look, I'm just calling 'cuz I know you got an interest in those crazy bastards."

"You did the right thing."

"It's not about the right thing."

"Then what is it about?"

A pause, and then: "'s not important."

Ren sighs. One of the difficulties of working with drug dealers like this man is their lack of interest in the overall well-being of the world. Ren has never met the man he's speaking to, though he has been buying mako from him for at least a year now. At first it was just small dosages for research and experimentation, but now that he has enhancements for ten children to support, the amount is considerably larger. Somehow, the dealer has never failed to come up with any volume of mako Ren has asked for. "I'll need another shipment soon."

"Soon? You just got one, yo."

"And I need another." He doesn't mention that the reason he needs more is because three large canisters, each holding about thirty doses, were found missing this morning along with Denzel.

"You're gonna have to wait a bit. I don't have anyone to deliver it. I'm pretty busy."

"What about the man that usually delivers it? The one with the long hair and the marking on his forehead."

"He's busy too."

"There's no one?"

"Nope. You're out of luck. I'll call you if anything changes."

"Wait—" But Ren is speaking to the air because the connection is already dead. In the next movement, he is out of his chair and halfway across the room. He needs to talk with Jenkins.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"They're close," Ren says simply, hand holding the doorway of the lab.

Jenkins looks up, red hair clownishly bright against his white lab coat. "Who?" He scratches his bearded chin and steps back from the web of tubes and filters designed for mako purification. "Hey, stop fidgeting so much and calm down."

Pressing his lips together, Ren takes a breath through his nose and straightens, forcing his foot to cease tapping. "I_ am_ calm. The SOLDIERs. They're close. I just got a call from my contact inside of Midgar. Two of them were spotted around the ShinRa tower an hour ago."

"What contact? That druggie from the Mako Belt?" Jenkins snorts, his thick cheeks dimpling.

"He can be trusted."

"Right-o, Boss!"

Ren sighs with a controlled puff of air. It is obvious that Jenkins enjoys annoying him. "That's not important. We don't have much time. They've never been this aggressive before." He shakes his head. "I… have a theory."

"Yeah?"

"I think that wherever they were getting their mako before, it suddenly is not available now. They would have no need to attack that mako facility otherwise."

Jenkins twists his mouth in the sterile neon lights of the laboratory, the shadows of his outthrust lip tangling in his beard. "You mean their supplier cut them off?"

"Why else?" Ren says, taking a step forward and leaning an arm against a metal table strewn with a mess of papers. He closes his eyes to keep the frenzy of misaligned rectangles from searing holes in his thoughts. "It doesn't make sense."

"Unless you got a death wish," Jenkins adds.

"It's not only dangerous, it's inhuman. They'll be desperate now."

Jenkins grunts and lights a cigarette, staring off at the large metal cabinets along one wall. Inside are bottles of sedatives and tranquilizers to keep the children quiet during their treatments. "It's not going to be pretty," he says finally. "Either we hand them an endless supply of mako, or we kill them and end their misery."

Ren opens his eyes to give Jenkins an intense glare, knuckles whitening against the edge of the table. "They were heroes once."

"Yeah, yeah man." Jenkins waves his hands dismissively. "And now they're warped crazies. But I tell ya one thing, they won't think twice about killing _us_. You remember that one we ran into out by Nibel? Had that scar like an 's' on his cheek? Murder in his eyes, that's what I saw."

"First class. He said he was a SOLDIER first class." Like Zack.

"It's all the same now. Monsters, the lot of them."

Straightening, Ren glances briefly at the ceiling. Monsters. It's hard for him to believe that. How does a hero become a monster? It just doesn't make sense. Unless they were flawed at the start. Unless they were never really heroes to begin with. Or the alternative. ShinRa. ShinRa did it. ShinRa twisted them somehow. He sees the flashbulb image of debris-strewn ground and a world of nothing but gray—gray dirt, gray smoke, gray faces. A company that could destroy a whole Sector, that could kill so thoughtlessly, could they also destroy the mind of a hero? "What's the status of the enhancements?"

"Forty percent or so. Not enough to be of any use to us. They're still just kids. You put them up against those SOLDIERs and you'll have a lot of explaining to do to their parents."

"Their parents are dead."

"Guardians then. Whatever."

Ren watches Jenkins quietly for a moment. The man has his arms crossed over his large chest, a swirl of smoke twisting away from the lit cigarette dangling off his fingers. "Don't smoke in the lab. It's not sterile," Ren says testily.

"Neither are the bottoms of your shoes, but I don't nag you to take them off. You tell that Turk chick about all this?"

"No. You know I'm minimizing what she knows." Ren can see the obscene and explicit thoughts scrolling through Jenkins' head. His mind replays the low whistling sound Jenkins makes every time Elena passes in the hall.

Jenkins smirks. "Using her is more like it. Lucky you she's got all that knowledge of swords and guns and weaponry. I ain't cut out for teaching midgets about firearms, and I still don't believe you can use a sword."

"We would have made do." What Ren doesn't tell him is that he never intended to teach the children by himself. Heroes had to be trained from the best. Elena might be good with a gun, but she wasn't the best with a sword. There was only one swordsman that Ren could consider when the time was right.

"What about that boy, Denzel?"

The words freeze Ren's thoughts. He doesn't want to talk about that. It's a break in his perfectly formed chain of logic, an unexpected anomaly. _It's true. I've lost Cloud Strife's boy._ His eyes wander over the mako purifying equipment, the stacks of empty syringes, the canisters of Life's Blood. "The children are out looking. Groups of three. Elena is running reconnaissance on the motorcycle." It feels so frustratingly primitive and limiting to be searching on foot, but what can he do? They're still only children. They can't drive. And he has no way of knowing where Denzel could be.

Jenkins doesn't say anything. He only snorts and shakes his head.

"If the SOLDIERs really do become an immediate threat, those children may be all we've got. We'll have to think of a safe way to handle the situation." Ren speaks slowly, because he's not sure he wants to say what he does even as the sounds leave his mouth. They were supposed to have months, years maybe, to train these kids before ever really putting them in danger. Not two weeks. When the HHI "summer camp" ended, he was supposed to get the chance to explain to their guardians what was really going on, to convince them to help, to earn their confidence. And then the children would become permanent members of Holding Hands International and Ren could start really training his heroes, with men like Cloud Strife helping.

"Guess I'll be prepping double dosages."

"Is that safe?"

Jenkins rolls his eyes and scratches at his beard. "Trust me. I'll keep a close eye and all that. I'm not looking to make more monsters either."

"Of course not." It feels like acid is bubbling under his skin. More time. They were supposed to have more time. Time. He is powerless without time. They all are. Antsy with the need to say or do something, he adds, "And clean this lab," before striding out of the room.

"Sure Boss."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Elena slips around the corner in the hallway as Ren exits the door of the laboratory. She holds her breath and pushes her back against the wall. His steps fade away at measured, precise intervals and she waits until she can't hear them at all before releasing the air trapped in her lungs. Careful to silence her own steps, she tip-toes to a nearby storage closet, using the key Ren entrusted her with to open the heavy metal door.

Inside are racks of swords, some dulled for practice, some sharpened for a fight, and drawers full of guns with cartons of bullets at their sides. It always amazes her how well-supplied Ren is. She had asked him once, shortly after coming here, while he gave her a tour through endless rooms, each meticulously designed for a specific purpose, where he got the funds to build such a place. He'd smiled, in that way of his that looked entirely too planned to be genuine, and said that his brother had been a high-ranking ShinRa officer, and that the families of high-ranking officers were paid well when one died. It was ironic, he'd said, without explaining. But she'd sensed there was something else, something that he wasn't so willing to tell.

She pulls the cellphone from the clip at her waist, twisting in the uncomfortable constraints of her tight pants. She's still not used to these clothes, even after two weeks of wearing them, feeling self-conscious even now. _Who's here to leer at you? A bunch of swords?_

She dials the phone number, trying not to feel anxious.

"Rufus," comes the calm voice.

"Sir? It's me, Elena." Her voice is the antithesis of his: hyper and urgent.

"I know Elena. Caller ID."

Face reddening, she says, "Oh. I mean, of course, sir. I have a report."

"Go on."

"I overheard a conversation with Ren and his scientist, Jenkins. Ren says there was an attack on a mako processing facility. He thinks it was the SOLDIERs."

"It was. I know that already." He sounds distracted and bothered. "What about Denzel?"

"No leads yet. The kids are out searching."

"It's important that we find him."

"I know, sir." But she doesn't really. When she had called earlier with the news that Denzel was missing, Rufus had been unexpectedly angry. First because she had never mentioned that Denzel was part of the program, and second because they hadn't kept close enough track of him. She'd never expected that the identity of Ren's students would matter so much. She backs up against a rack of swords and adds, "We'll find him, Sir."

"I think _we'll_ find him first. Was that the only reason you called?"

She pauses, confused, but answers his question anyway. "No. There was one other thing. Ren said he'd heard from a contact in Midgar that two of the SOLDIERs were spotted near the ShinRa tower an hour ago."

Now there is silence, and the silence is more terrifying that Rufus' yelling could ever be. "Elena, have you found anything out that I _don't _already know?"

"Um… Well, sir… Ren thought the SOLDIER attack was a sign they had lost their drug supply."

"He suspects? Or he knows?"

"Suspects, sir. Do you think that's true?"

"I appreciate your loyalty Elena. Eventually you'll find out just how silly you sound. In the meantime, you should get back to work. You have a mistake to correct."

"Are my orders the same, sir?"

After a short pause, Rufus responds, "No. By now Denzel will be with them. It's pointless to look now."

"With who?"

"Pay attention. The SOLDIERs."

"But why, sir?"

He doesn't answer her question. Instead he tells her, "Convince Ren to try to defeat the SOLDIERs at all costs. Denzel cannot be allowed to stay with them. I told you before how important it is to find him. He must be retrieved."

"But… what can Ren do? All he has is the kids and they're no higher than the private level in the old days was. The SOLDIERs would kill them with a thought." She fingers the edge of a sword lightly behind her back.

"Then they will die. They may buy us some time though."

Her finger slips on the sharp metal and she gasps.

"Do calm down, Elena. You're a Turk."

"No—Sir—I mean, that wasn't—" she stops, knowing she's muddied the sentence too much to continue. Trying again, she says, "Is it… is it that important, sir?"

"If we don't stop them, they will kill us all."

"Yessir," she says quickly, pressing her bleeding fingertip into the palm of her hand.

There is the click of the phone connection dropping, but she stands unmoving, trying to figure out what Rufus is hiding for the length of time it takes her to remember that she is a Turk, simply a pawn on the ShinRa chessboard. Not everything is for her to know. Clothing herself with rigid professionalism, she grabs an extra gun from one of the storage draws and loads the clip, holstering it on her belt. Then she runs out into the hall, heading for her bike outside so she can check the status of Ren's search teams of children.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Ren stands next to the empty bunk beds in Denzel's room, knees slightly bent and palms pressed flat against the air on either side of him like he is afraid he might fall. With blank eyes, he blinks at the sparse fittings of the room. Two dressers. A door to the bathroom. An open and empty suitcase thrown lazily into one corner.

His emotions always hit him like this, in tension-tied knots of anxious energy, and it feels like a punch to the gut. Bending his knees a little more, he fights for stability. And in the midst of his fight, the lilting voice of a child comes, belonging to his sister and to a memory.

"_Come on! You guys are soooo slooow!" Maggie stopped, waiting with her hands on her hips._

"_I don't like this mission, Maggie. W-w-what if we find one?" Ren asked, eyes shifting around the trees._

"_Then we'll kill it!" she declared brightly._

"_But what if it has fangs and claws?"_

_Maggie's smile turned to a frown. "Ren, stop being a baby."_

"_I'm not. I just don't understand w-w-why you have to drag us out here. R-r-right Zack?"_

_Zack grinned, slapping his brother on the back as he walked past him. "Come on Worry-Ren, you're scared and ya know it!"_

Filling his lungs with a slow stream of air, Ren flicks off the memory like a light switch and suddenly breaks his awkward stance, moving toward the bed. He came here for clues. Clues. He's here to find clues. He repeats the directions to himself as he climbs the first rung of the ladder to the top bunk, the one Denzel used to occupy. He's looked here before, but hurriedly, right after breakfast when Denzel never showed up and his roommate said he hadn't seen him.

Now he leans forward over the pillow, running his hands under the unmade covers until they skip over the bed sheets onto a thick piece of paper. No. Two. Two pieces of paper. He slides them out from under the blue comforter and nearly falls off the ladder when he sees what it is.

A picture. It's a picture ripped in two. It's a picture of Denzel and his family ripped in two.

For a moment, he simply stares at it, trying to figure out why Denzel would damage such a thing and why he would abandon it here to be swallowed by the messy bedspread. He feels choked with the sense that he is spying, that he is somewhere he does not belong, because something about those smiling faces seems sacred, and Cloud… he looks so _happy._ He can't help replacing those faces with other faces, with _his_ faces, the faces of his brother and his sister and his parents, as he steps a rung higher on the ladder to get a closer look.

"_Sshh! You're scaring away all the monsters!"_

"_Must be wimpy monsters then, Mags."_

"_Shush Zack!"_

"_Guys…"_

"_What's with that look, Renny? You gotta be a man! Like me!"_

He pushes the voices of his siblings out of his mind again and examines the picture. It must be a few years old because Denzel looks younger. This precursor to the brooding kid with long bangs in his eyes has a look of fragile hope and a smile that could break someone's heart. And next to him, a girl is beaming like a ray of sunshine, recklessly content. She seems proud to have these people close to her.

Only she doesn't. Not now. And who's to blame? Himself? He should have been more careful. How had he not been more careful? The feel of his mistake is tangible, slimy and dirty on his pale skin.

"Hey man!"

Ren almost falls off the ladder for a second time. Then he squints in annoyance and leans backward to look over his shoulder at the harried face of Jenkins in the doorway. "What is it?"

"Your buddy Cloud Strife is here. He wants to talk to Denzel."

"Cloud? Here?"

"He's not happy either, man. I think he wants to cut something with that sword of his, keeps fingering the hilt like he's gonna flip if he doesn't get to chop something in half soon."

Ren swallows. There's no more time to wait. The SOLDIERs are stirring, Denzel is missing, the children aren't ready, and he needs Cloud's help. He needs his support. He wanted to wait longer, wanted to wait until he had something more to show for his work, to prove to Cloud how serious he is. But there is no more time. "Send him to my office. I'll meet him there."

"You sure you can handle him?"

The words of his siblings come again: _"W-w-why does it matter, Maggie?"_

"_Don't you get it yet Renny? Our sis' has got a hero complex."_

"_Do not!"_

"_Okay, then why do you want to find a monster so bad?"_

"'_Cuz if we don't, it could attack the village. But instead, we'll protect them!"_

"_So yeah, hero complex."_

Stepping off the ladder, Ren puts the two pieces of Denzel's family portrait into his pants pocket. "Yes. I'll be fine," he says. Cloud will understand. All he wants is to build a better world. Cloud will understand.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Rufus ShinRa does not like waiting. He also does not like feeling rushed. What he likes is being in control.

He is not, currently, in control. So he stands in the ShinRa tower's surveillance room, studying the screens of his multitude of security cameras, with a very sour expression marring his very smooth skin. Somehow, it all got away from him. Somehow, everything he had planned out, every detail he had manipulated to perfection, had fallen out of his hands. And it was all because of timing. They were supposed to have more time. He'd planned to keep supplying the SOLDIERs for several more years at least, to keep satiating them until the time was right, until he was ready. Until he had his own army to take down the monsters.

Timing, and one horribly crucial detail that he had missed. One tiny and paramount failure. Denzel had been awakened, and Rufus had had no idea until it was already done. The ShinRa secret weapon had been stolen right from under him. And then, suddenly, the stakes were too high. The SOLDIERs needed to be eliminated. Now. There was no more time.

The room is small and dimly lit, to aid the viewing of all the video screens lining the walls. There are cameras facing every angle of the building's perimeter, and he scans each one in turn, catching sight of Tseng, Reno, and Rude in the views as they travel the area surrounding the ShinRa tower to make sure it is secure. They'd failed to catch the two SOLDIERs this morning, and he feels tense watching them now. Would they fail again? His Turks are capable, but they aren't invincible.

Unfortunately, the invincible one is on the enemy's side.

And how many are left on the enemy's side? How many did his poisonous mako kill? Had the two that were in his office yesterday gotten it back to the main camp before trying it themselves? Too many questions. Too many unknowns.

Rufus flips his hair like a hungry lion shaking his mane and fingers the cellphone at his belt. He could call Cloud or the rest of Avalanche. They would help because the SOLDIERs were a threat to all of them. And Cloud would never have to know what part Rufus had played in everything. Cloud wouldn't even notice. He'd be preoccupied with the enemy, an enemy that has his son. Simple. Perfect. The fear of his family being hurt would drive Cloud to act blindly, and Rufus could go about manipulating the world undisturbed.

And yet, he still hasn't called. He hates dealing with Avalanche. Their idealism is easy to control, but frustrating. There have been times when he's simply wanted to shake one of them and yell, "The world does not work that way!"

The world operates on two principals: money and fear. His father had thought it was only money. He used to think it was only fear. But then he'd almost died, and he'd realized neither had been enough on its own. Both. The key was to use both for power. And it had been working wonderfully until now.

He pulls the cellphone from his belt, hearing it snap free in the silence, knowing he will make the call he doesn't want to make because it is what needs to be done to save everything he's worked for. Rufus ShinRa dials the phone number he knows by heart and waits for the cheerful voice of the Seventh Heaven's bartender.

It comes, as expected: "Seventh Heaven! How can I help you?"

"Tifa," he says, very seriously. "Where is Cloud Strife?"

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Ren isn't sure when the last time he's felt this nervous was. He's pacing his office, snapping his fingers because he needs more movement, more ways to vent his energy. And then there is a knock on the door.

He stops, face flickering toward the doorknob like he's staring into the headlights of an oncoming car. _Cloud Strife._

Balling up all his excess energy and shoving it down inside his chest, he says, "Come in," with a carefully manufactured, even tone. The whole thing seems so surreal. He'd worked so hard to avoid Cloud in the past, watching through security cameras when Cloud came to visit, making Jenkins answer the main phone just in case… Why?

The door begins to swing open and Ren's lungs implode on themselves, neck hurting with the tightness of his shoulders, stance rigid on iron-vice knees. This is why.

And suddenly, Cloud is inside the room with the door shut behind him. The definition of his muscles is clear under the ribbed fabric of his tank top, and the loose black cargo pants have more pockets and compartments than Ren would know what to do with. It's an outfit vaguely reminiscent of the old SOLDIER uniform, but modified, individualized. The hilt of a huge buster sword rises over one sturdy shoulder, and Ren thinks of a picture Zack once sent him where he posed with such a sword. The weapon looks much too big for a man of Cloud's size, because even though he is obviously strong, he still isn't particularly large. If someone just happened across him, someone who didn't know who he was, would they suspect this man with the spikes of wild blond hair and finely etched features to have superhuman abilities? Ren knows the answer is yes. Because there's something in the intensity of those brilliant blue eyes, something in the way he moves and in the sound of all those buckles and straps slapping against him.

_This is Cloud Strife._

Clearing his throat because he needs to do _something_, Ren forces sound through his lips. "Welcome, Mr. Strife." His hands are in his pockets to hide the tapping of his fingers against his leg.

But Cloud is staring at him like he isn't sure if he's awake. He blinks, lips slightly parted, and then shakes his head quickly. "You—you're…" He licks his lips and blinks some more.

Ren's mouth curls into a sardonic, humorless, smile. When he speaks, the words twist in his chest. "So I guess I do look like him after all."

"You're Zack's…"

"Brother," Ren finishes. "Ren Akabori. But you would probably know me better if I introduced myself as Ren Fair." He's watching the way Cloud's eyes make minute adjustments, back-and-forth movements across Ren's face, the only visual indication of the information processing through his brain.

"Why did you change your name?"

"A place like this," he gestures succinctly at the walls around him, "doesn't come cheaply. Not everything I did was legal or glamorous. The name 'Fair' didn't belong in all that."

Cloud nods once. "Zack said he had a brother," he says quietly, eyes falling to the floor and brow crinkling.

Ren isn't sure if Cloud is talking to him or to himself, so he says nothing, jaw clenching and unclenching in the silence. He's standing behind his desk and one hand instinctually slips out of his pocket to realign the stacks of folders—progress reports on each of the HHI children.

Then, like the release of a spring, Cloud's eyes dart back up, locking with Ren's, and he says, "Where's Denzel? On the way here, I passed a kid in the hall and he was carrying a gun. What's really going on here? And don't try to give me that community service camp story."

Ren swallows loudly. "We didn't lie to you. It's just not the community service you might expect. The kids here are special. They want to be heroes, to help people, to make sure no one else has to lose what they've lost."

Cloud stares at him blankly. "What does this have to do with Denzel?"

Ren is trying not to be intimidated, trying not to be overwhelmed by the way Cloud's biceps clench, almost imperceptibly, as he readjusts his stance. He takes a deep breath of air, the faint lemon-tinted scents of cleaning solutions in his office calming him. "Denzel lost his parents in Sector 7, just like all the children here. That's why I chose him. He understands how important it is to make sure that never happens again, how important it is to protect people."

Cloud takes a step forward, hesitates. "So you decided to teach them how to use guns?"

"Didn't you teach Denzel how to use a sword? He already knew when he arrived here."

"I'm his--that's my decision to make, not yours. Wait, you're teaching them sword fighting too? What is this?"

"It was _Denzel's_ decision. Just like it was yours when you joined the military. Just like it was Zack's…" Ren pauses, and for a moment, he is awe-struck with the absurd reality of the situation. He is speaking to Cloud Strife. "Zack used to mention you in his letters. He… admired your determination. He called you his best friend." His hand slips off the edge of his desk to clutch at his side, because Zack is looking back at him in Cloud's eyes.

"I want to see Denzel."

"That's… not really possible at the moment."

A dangerous glint of blue glare. "Why?"

And Ren struggles with the debate of how much to say. What would Cloud do if he knew Denzel had left? He remembers the ripped family photograph in his pocket and it suddenly feels like the object is pulling down his whole body. Then the words are rolling out of him like tumbleweed, scratching at his throat, "Denzel ran away."

For a moment, Cloud doesn't move, but every muscle visibly tenses. "When." The word is a demand.

"W-w-we think sometime last night." Ren curses the stutter in his words, an old childhood affliction that he struggled with for years. 'W's were always the worst. "He was angry after having a fight with one of the other children here. When I spoke to him, he seemed confused. But he never said he wanted to leave."

"No one saw him?"

"No… But we'll find him, I promise. We started a search mission."

"With what? Those kids?"

"You'll find that they're stronger than you'd expect." He says it with a skewed tone that he knows will catch Cloud's attention. He needs to tell Cloud, needs to tell him everything.

Cloud's eyes narrow. "What does that mean?"

And as he answers, Ren imagines that the spiked hair is black instead of blond. "They've had mako injections, just like you."

"What are you saying?"

"Mako, Cloud! Enhancements!

"You gave them mako? Denzel—" He stops, starts again: "You couldn't have… Why?"

"I'm giving them the power to be heroes! There are remnants of the old SOLDIERs out there, crazed men who will kill anyone in their path. We need people to protect against men like that. That's all I'm doing. I'm protecting people. And it's perfectly safe. I spent a year working with Jenkins to make sure it would be perfectly safe." And Ren has an itching need to restart this conversation, to reorder it around the correct paths of logic, because Cloud looks like he doesn't understand. But he has to understand. Everything depends on him understanding. If he understands, then Zack would…

Cloud takes a step forward, buckles clanking loudly, hand rising to the hilt of his sword. Then he stops, shakes his head, looks away, and says, "I was with Zack when he died. He died protecting me and I couldn't do a thing to help him because I had such bad mako poisoning. If it hadn't been for the mako, he wouldn't have died. But I had to watch. I had to watch the SOLDIERs cover him with bullets and I couldn't do a thing. I couldn't even turn my head to look away."

Ren is struck by the sudden memory of a ShinRa officer coming to his door, telling him that Zack was missing in action and expected to be dead. That was it. No further explanation. But after all these years… Cloud had seen him die, had seen him die at the hands of the SOLDIERs? But Zack was a SOLIDER… and that should have been before the SOLDIERs turned bad… "I—I don't understand… Why?"

Quietly: "I guess you could say we were betrayed. ShinRa experimented on us, and when we escaped, they came looking for us."

Ren cannot speak. He cannot think. He can only stare at Cloud.

Cloud's wide eyes are colored with a mixture of pity and anger. "Do you know what mako does to people? What it does to their minds?" he asks, voice still a whisper.

He's not sure where the words come from, but they come, feebly. "It gives them strength. It gives them the p-p-power to be heroes."

Cloud shakes his head. "Heroes for what?"

Ren blinks. He feels hot, his skin clammy.

"Zack once told me something when I was just a kid. When I just joined the military. I think I wanted glory or something. I don't know. But he told me that a hero has to know what he is protecting. If you know what you are protecting, and do everything you can to protect it, then you are a hero." The glazed expression on Cloud's face shows that he is somewhere else in his mind. "I guess he died proving that to me."

Then suddenly, Ren's frozen thoughts whirl forward, wrapping around him, squeezing the air out of his lungs like bellows, scratching his burning eyes, stunning his mind so that it skips out of the present and into the past.

"_I-It's almost dark Maggie. Can w-w-we go home now?"_

"_Hey, don't take orders from a girl. Stand your ground Renny!"_

"_You can go home by yourself if you want, Ren."_

"_Alone?!"_

"_Nah, don't worry Renny. I'll come too. This is boring Mags!"_

"_What? You'd both abandon me, your only sister?"_

"_Looks like it."_

"_Fine. But you guys can only go if you solve a riddle."_

"_That's stupid."_

"_H-h-hey, I'm good at riddles."_

"_Shut up, Renny."_

"_Here goes! I 'm thinking of something that everyone is born with but not everyone gets to keep. Some people have more than one and some people make new ones but it can't be made alone. And those that realize its value will protect it to the death. What is it?" _

"N-n-no!" Ren says, surprised that his voice is an adult's rather than that of a child. He blinks through his memories and reaches toward Cloud. "We need heroes to protect everyone, everyone against the SOLDIERs who betrayed their purpose. Traitors… they're traitors… they hurt innocents. I've seen what they leave behind—even recently they attacked a mako processing village and killed everyone…"

Cloud says nothing; he waits with a diamond-cut expression.

"You. Zack. You were different. The kids here are different. What did you fight for? What did you protect? We're building a better world. Zack always used to say that. But ShinRa ruined it because they didn't understand. They twisted that power. But this is different. I won't abandon these children. I won't let them become evil. This time will be different."

Cloud's eyes shift to the ground and he adjusts his stance. His buckles clank gently with the movement and the silver wolf's amulet he wears glints in the light streaming through Ren's large picture windows. "Why can't you people just leave it alone?"

"What?"

"Mako. The Planet. The Lifestream."

"I-I-I don't understand."

"Just leave it alone and be normal. Let us be normal." Cloud backs away, looking up again. His eyes meet Ren's for a fraction of a moment before he shakes his head, pivoting toward the door, the thumping of his boots heavy and final.

"W-w-where are you going?"

"To get back my family." His words fall like stones through the thick air. Then he adds, "Because that's what I choose to protect."

A sharp breath. "Wait!" Ren steps quickly around his desk, stopping a short distance from Cloud's back. He has to stop him, has to show him, has to make him see… "Look!" He reaches into his pocket.

Cloud turns, but doesn't raise his eyes. Instead he's staring at the two halves of the photograph in Ren's outstretched palm. Ren feels dizzy and lightheaded, like he is watching the scene unfold from somewhere else in the room.

"Where did you get this?" Cloud's voice is a harsh whisper.

"Denzel left it."

Silence.

Ren continues: "This. This is what I'm trying to protect. Families. People. You have to understand. What I'm trying to do here… We're creating a better wo—"

"I don't care!"

Mouth still open, Ren watches the shadows shifting over Cloud's down-turned face. He waits because he suddenly can't move.

Slowly, after an infinity of time trapped in the space of a moment, Cloud reaches out and carefully takes the family portrait in his own black-gloved fingers. Then he tilts his head up with blue-fire eyes, and says, "Where do you keep your mako?"

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Elena is just stepping in the door of the HHI lobby, bike parked outside, to give Ren an update, when she sees an angry Cloud Strife storming loudly across the room from the direction of the basement elevator. His eyes widen only slightly with recognition and then he is angling towards her at a steady pace, elbow coming up to pin her chest against the wall. She mutters a muted curse at her poor timing.

"What is a ShinRa Turk doing here?" he asks steadily.

She stares back, forcing her expression into cold professionalism. This close, she can see the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks, the muscles of his jaw clenching under his skin, the dark ring of blue around the almost translucent teal of his eyes. She recognizes the coloring as a signature of his agitation. Tseng's looks exactly the same when he's angry. "I'm not working for ShinRa. I quit the Turks."

"I don't believe you."

She considers that though his grip is firm, his forearm against her collarbone isn't pressing hard enough to choke or hurt her. She smiles, slipping her hand down toward the gun at her belt. "I work for Ren now."

His hand slams down over hers on the hilt of the gun, his grip rough and tight. "I don't believe you," he says again with more emphasis.

"I guess that's your problem then. I can't really change that." She tries to sound light and unconcerned.

Moving his face even closer to hers, he says, "No, but you can tell me what you know."

"It's good to see you're doing well, Cloud. I really think you should let me go though. I told you, I work for Ren now. I can bring you to him if you have questions."

"Sorry, I left my nice-Cloud personality at home next to my fuzzy slippers. I already spoke to Ren. What does Rufus want with Holding Hands?"

She remembers then how Reno has often claimed that Cloud is far more dangerous than anyone thinks, if only because his violence is both so exact and so unexpected. But as she looks back at him, she doesn't just see the mako-crazed terrorist she's thought him to be in the past; she sees lines of concern in the smooth features, desperate worry, love maybe. And it feels like his arm is inside of her, pressing against her heart. "Rufus is only watching Ren. He's not directly involved."

"Where's Denzel?"

"We don't know. Well, not exactly. We haven't seen him since this morning but Rufus thinks he's with the SOLDIERs even though he wouldn't say why—"

"What did you say?"

She is silent, mouth clamped firmly shut. But she wonders if her slip of knowledge was completely an accident. If Cloud goes against the SOLDIERs also, it can only help.

"Where?" he demands.

"I told you. We don't know. SOLDIERs were spotted near the ShinRa tower this morning."

A pause, then: "How many?"

"Two."

"That's it?"

"That's all I know," she confirms.

He remains up against her, glaring long enough to assert his dominance before backing away. "That had better be the truth."

"I'm a Turk, not suicidal," she says quietly and then sucks in a quick breath of air. She's done it again. Shit.

"Looks like you still work for ShinRa after all. Thanks Elena. I'll let Ren know your secret next time I'm around."

She watches as he runs outside and mounts his bike, his movements abrupt and tight. That's right. She's a Turk. Elena the big-mouthed Turk.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Cloud pulls out his phone while the wind rakes banshee screams across his ears and the gravel of the road pelts him like hail. He makes a tight turn out of the Holding Hands International driveway. His tires screech.

For a moment, he is confused, because as his finger comes over the speed dial button, the phone starts ringing and Tifa's name scrolls across the display. The confusion lasts until he realizes that she is calling him, even as he is about to dial her number.

"Tifa?" He says the name quickly, like it is an important fact.

"Cloud… where are you?" She sounds a little confused.

"Leaving Holding Hands International. Tifa, I have to talk to you…"

"Rufus called. He wanted you. He said it was important, that it was about Denzel. I told him you were going to visit Denzel and he laughed. Cloud? What's going on?"

She's speeding ahead, speaking quickly, and he pauses both to process what she's said and to figure out what he's going to say next. "Rufus? He is involved then…"

"Involved with what? Cloud? Tell me what's going on?"

He knows it's going to be a lot to explain and he's not sure where to start. He's not even sure how much of it he's absorbed himself. Mako. Denzel was injected with mako, and he wasn't there to stop it. For a moment he is back at the Seventh Heaven, two weeks ago, and Denzel is staring at him with a look of determination that is too familiar because Cloud knows he wore it once. It's a look that demands strength, power, the ability to do something great. It's a restless look that craves something more than a normal life. _Denzel… did you know? Did you know all along what Ren planned to do to you?_

"Cloud? Cloud, talk to me."

But he's not ready to speak about mako just yet, so he starts with: "Denzel isn't at Holding Hands. He's missing."

"He's—" Her voice cuts out and he's not sure if it's interference in the cell phone connection or if she's simply stopped speaking.

"He disappeared sometime last night. They don't know where he is. Tifa? Are you there?"

"Yes. I just, I'm trying to figure out how to react." She sounds remarkably calm.

"The guy who runs Holding Hands, he's Zack's brother… Do you have customers right now?"

"A few. Why?"

"Get rid of them. I need you to do something. There's more I have to tell you."

"What?"

A cloud moves its cover from the sun and the light glares brightly off the metal handlebars of his bike. He squints, but doesn't slow his insane speed, even as he leans into a sharp turn in the road while almost blind. "Talk to Rufus. I think he's involved. Find out what he knows. I'll get there as fast as I can."

"You think he took Denzel?" She sounds angry and he imagines her fingering the black gloves she always keeps in a hidden pouch under her skirt. He hears the leather crinkling, and smells the pungent mix of animal skin and materia.

"No."

"Then who? Where could he be, Cloud? Don't we have any leads?"

"I... have suspicions…"

"What are you so afraid to say?"

He shakes his head, closes his eyes, and redirects his thoughts towards another fact he knows she needs to hear. He can't wait any longer. She needs to know. "Holding Hands isn't just some normal kids' camp. They're injecting kids with mako."

"But—Denzel—" Her voice trails off.

"Yeah," Cloud responds solemnly. "Him too." And as he says it he reaches down toward one of his pockets and runs his fingers along the outline of the object there. It feels heavy, not quite physically, but it is as if its power and meaning have become something tangible. He leans forward on the bike, focused on getting to Midgar as fast as possible.

"—have to get him back. Why would someone do that? He's just a kid. I'll take Marlene to the neighbor's house and then I'll go see Rufus, but Cloud, if he's involved, I'll use whatever force I need to—" Tifa is saying. But he's only barely listening. There's a thick fog rolling through his mind and he wonders if maybe another mako withdrawal attack is coming. Withdrawal. That's what the SOLDIER in his dream blamed his 'episodes' on, and he knows it's true. Perhaps he's always known. Every day that passes without a mako injection makes him a little bit weaker, a little more fragile, a little less superhuman.

Through the haze of his thoughts, one fact remains clear. "Tifa, I'll do whatever I have to to get him back." He's not sure if he interrupted her or not, because he forgot to check if she was speaking first, but she's silent now.

Then: "Be careful, Cloud." He thinks of his mother, and the last words she said to him before he left to join the military. _Be careful, Cloud._

He doesn't say he will. He can't. "Wait for me. Don't maul anybody just yet."

"I love you," she says, and he knows she hasn't agreed to his request either.

But maybe that's why it's so easy for him to respond: "I love you too." The last thing he says is, "I'll be there soon," before ending the call.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Denzel is not sure, but he thinks that maybe he is standing at the ledge of a revelation, and he looks up at the man with the s-shaped scar on his face with a sense of wonder. The shadow of the abandoned mako reactor clothes them, and it seems a fitting place for the revealing of secrets. "What do you mean?"

Sevi smiles, and it is an expression without meaning, more like a reflex. "There were rumors."

"Rumors?"

"During the old ShinRa Company reign. Everyone knew a little bit, I think. I'm pretty sure I asked to go through the revised process. It's hard to remember now, though." Sevi's eyes travel up the long obelisk tower of the derelict reactor before snapping back down to meet Denzel's gaze with rapt intensity. "You went through that process."

Denzel pulls his loose robe tighter around his shoulders, balling the fabric in his fists. "I don't understand what you're talking about," he says, frustration in his voice. He feels antsy. Is it the mako? Or the prodding of so many unknowns?

"I will show you. Your mako injections have awakened your power. Trust me." Sevi holds out his hand.

Hesitantly, Denzel reaches out his own, and Sevi grabs the wrist with iron-bar fingers. Then he reaches into his robe and pulls out a knife, eyes never leaving Denzel's.

"What are you--!"

But the sharp blade is already slicing through Denzel's palm, blood drowning the metal edge. He cries out, but Sevi releases the wrist to cover Denzel's mouth. "Watch!" he whispers harshly.

And as Denzel does, he sees the open lips of his wound start to close, the red of his blood soaking back into his skin. He gasps against Sevi's hand, expression shocked. The cut is gone.

Sevi steps back, crossing his arms and regarding Denzel calmly.

"It healed!"

"Now you understand." Sevi nods and tilts his head toward the sky, eyes turning to the direction of the early afternoon sun. "We shall rejoin the others now. Soon we will attack."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: It's been a long wait, I know. I completely rewrote this chapter. I had something like 17 pages, all completed and ready to post, but it didn't feel right. So I waited a few days, read it again, and realized it was all wrong. Then I rewrote the entire thing, pretty much from scratch. I've been revising it for weeks. On the plus side, I've also been writing parts of the next chapters concurrently, so the next few should come more quickly.

Everyone go check out the Genesis Awards! http://genesisawards. proboards100. (take out spaces). There are some great Final Fantasy VII fic recommendations and discussions for you to look at.

Many, many thanks for your reviews. They are insanely helpful. Please keep the comments and criticisms coming! Thanks!


	11. Standing at the Edge

**Chapter 11 – Standing at the Edge**

**A/N:** Because, despite all his indecisiveness at times, Cloud always does whatever it takes in the end…

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tseng leans back in the unsteady chair of the small coffee shop and hears the metal creak around loose screws. Back right leg. If he were to twist it just so, it could be disconnected completely and used as a weapon. In his estimation, it only weighs a kilo, because the leg is hollow inside, so he would have to swing it hard to cause any real damage. This would be the kind of weapon used only when looking for the element of surprise or when in complete desperation.

In his lap, there's a newspaper that he isn't reading and a cup of cold tea on the small table in front of him that he isn't drinking. Instead, he's looking out the large picture window beside him, eyes sweeping back and forth across the entrance of the ShinRa tower.

One thin, elegant hand absently adjusts the small, inconspicuous headset clipped onto his ear.

"Did you see that one Rude? Over by the flower shop. She's at least an eight," Tseng hears Reno say over the headset.

"Green dress?"

"That's the one."

"A six."

"Are you crazy? Get a look at that body! You're blind, yo. I think those sunglasses are too dark."

"Perhaps I simply have higher standards."

"Perhaps you just don't have any taste. Come on Rude, _look_ at her."

"I'm looking."

"And?"

"She's a six."

"Hopeless man, you're completely hopeless. I don't know why I even bother."

"Neither do I."

"It's not worth it really."

"No, it's not."

"You're lucky I'm such a nice guy or I_ wouldn't_ bother, yo."

Tseng hears a snort and then Rude's voice: "I don't deserve such luck."

Tseng finds Reno's figure out the window walking casually across the street, hands in his pockets and the collar of his long trench coat pulled high. The ponytail of bright red hair makes him easy to spot, even with the baseball cap he's wearing. But Tseng has to give him credit. He looks just like any other citizen of Midgar taking a casual walk, and he never once catches Reno glancing at the girl in the green dress, which, by the way, Tseng silently rates a seven. Rude is in a restaurant on the other side of the ShinRa building, out of Tseng's line of sight, though obviously still able to see the girl on the street between them.

"We're looking for SOLDIERs, not girls," Tseng comments, turning the page of his newspaper as if he's actually reading it.

"I'm multi-tasking," Reno replies. "Multi-tasking is the best way to fight workplace complacency, right Rude?"

"You made that up."

"Well, yeah, but it sounds good. The crazy bastards won't think of attacking until nightfall anyway."

Tseng knows it's probably true. As maniacal as the SOLDIERs may have become, their original training isn't likely to have been forgotten. The SOLDIERs had always been taught to use every advantage available. If possible, that meant using the cover of night to aid the element of surprise and minimize the visibility of brutality to an unsuspecting public. But staying alive as a Turk meant being careful. "Thoughts like that get men killed," Tseng says curtly.

"I know that." And all the humor has left Reno's voice, leaving something sharp and cold behind.

Tseng has known Reno long enough to recognize that this is the closest the man ever gets to fear anymore. None of them like the idea of going against the SOLDIERs. Men ravaged by mako use. Men driven over the edge of insanity.

_Mako._ The word slithers in between Tseng's thoughts, through his veins, around his chest. There's a dose in a pouch at his waist, next to a gun holster, and he knows that before nightfall he'll have to excuse himself to the bathroom to use it. A sour taste fills his mouth and he thinks of Elena, of the look on her face every time she sees him using. _Weak._ That's what her eyes tell him. He is weak.

There are five guns, three daggers, and eight grenades hidden on his person under the cover of a heavy, long coat. He knows exactly how long it would take to kill a man with each one and exactly how quickly he can switch between weapons. The grenades have a blast radius of twenty-five feet. Counting all five guns and the extra clips he is carrying, he can kill as many as fifty men in less than two minutes.

But if someone were to steal that mako injection from the pouch at his waist, he would be a convulsing, incapacitated mess within 24 hours. _Weak._

He'd known when he woke from his coma after Meteor was defeated, lying back on a white cot in a nondescript room, staring up at the proud features of Rufus ShinRa, that there was a price to pay for his life. "You're bought and paid for, Tseng. You belong to me now," Rufus had said. Glancing at the IV in his arm and the emerald-tinted fluid trickling through the plastic tubing, he had understood. He was a prisoner.

Just like all the others were.

"We'll probably recognize some of the SOLDIERs when they attack. We're the ones who recruited them." Tseng says, surprising himself with the sound of his voice. He'd forgotten for a moment where he was. That sometimes happens to him.

"I plan to kill them before I get a chance to look at their faces. Even Rufus said he doesn't care how much of a mess we make, just as long as we get them all. I see one of those freakish swords coming at me and I'm blasting a hole through the bastard's head, yo. I don't care if the guy was my brother once."

"Besides, thoughts like that get men killed, Tseng," Rude adds. There isn't any mocking quality in his voice, just the unemotional detachment of facts.

_Mako. Slave. Weak._ Tseng is silent.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Road. A stretched out and shimmering stone lake in the afternoon sun with the sound of the motorcycle's engine rumbling smoothly. Somehow, the sound resembles the fields of wavering grass on either side of him. Cloud smells oil and gasoline and the sharp green flavor of pollen in the air and he thinks of the first time he showed Denzel how to give the motorcycle a tune-up. They'd gotten into a wrestling match as they put away the last of Cloud's tools, and soon after they were rolling on the ground, grass sticking to the grime and motor oil coating their skin. When they'd come home, Tifa had looked at them critically and asked what crime they had committed to earn a tar and feathering. Denzel looked confused. Cloud smirked.

"_Well, you know, I'm quite the rebel," Cloud said, smiling with one corner of his mouth as he sat down at her bar. It was late afternoon, and the after-work rush of customers was still at least an hour away. They had the place almost to themselves._

_Denzel gave a thumbs up with a dirty hand, the nails lined with black, as he plopped down next to Cloud. "That's right. Me too. So ya better be careful!"_

_Hands on her hips, Tifa raised an eyebrow and leaned forward to examine them critically. "Is that so?"_

"_Yeah, you got a problem, Toots?" Cloud drawled lazily, lifting both arms over his head._

"_What if I do?" It was obvious Tifa was trying not to laugh. "You gonna clean my bar after you're done tracking dirt all over it?"_

"_No way, Woman!" Denzel shouted defiantly._

_Cloud stifled a laugh in the form of a snort. He leaned toward Denzel conspiratorially and whispered, "Hey, Denz, there's a pretty high chance we will. It's best not to provoke her."_

"_Oh." Denzel looked crestfallen._

"_But…" Cloud added, "we might be able to distract her and delay it." He turned back to Tifa again as Denzel perked up. "You know what the punishment for harboring a rebel is?" Cloud asked in full voice._

"_I don't like that look, Cloud…"_

"_The punishment for harboring a rebel is sharing in their punishment," he continued, his tone official. "Denzel, you get the flour and I'll get the cooking oil. That should be close enough…Unless we have feathers somewhere…"_

_Tifa's eyes grew wide. "I'll kill you, Cloud Stife. I really will."_

_He got up slowly. Denzel mimicked his movements._

"_You know, Cloud, sometimes I wish you'd had a normal childhood so you could have gotten all this out of your system then." She was backing away, angling toward the kitchen door._

"_Ready Denzel?"_

"_Yup!"_

"_Then let's go!"_

_All three bodies moved at once. By the time the first harried customers came through the doors of the Seventh Heaven, looking to unwind after a long day of work, Marlene had joined in the battle and all four of them were covered in oil, flour, frozen peas (Cloud's idea), catsup (Denzel's idea), and tuna fish (Tifa and Marlene's revenge)._

Cloud catches himself smiling as he remembers, but the expression fades quickly as he realizes where he is again, and tries to decide whether the memory should make him happy or sad. He fingers the wolf's head amulet at his shoulder. The force of the breeze above the lip of his glove is cold on his exposed wrist, and all he can think is that it feels like handcuffs of fire. Strands of wind-abused hair tickle his ears. He imagines the feather-light touch of Tifa's kisses and the grating of nails against metal all at once. Everything is a fitting contradiction and his mind is an adrenaline induced mess.

_Mako gives you power._

He squints toward the horizon-line of empty road, at the buildings of Midgar less than an hour away, the ShinRa skyscraper rising like an obelisk to an ancient god of war. But it's the old ShinRa tower he sees, not the new, smaller, revival. What he sees is the extravagant lobby and the blue-clad SOLDIERs and the bored face of that first secretary on that first day he entered the building, just an awe-struck kid from some hick-town called Nibelheim.

The substantial weight in his pocket slaps against his leg as his motorcycle pitches over a pothole and the impact shatters through his mental meanderings and smothers them in a cloud of dust. _How far will you go?_

Zack had asked him that once, in a very serious tone, as he sat on his bed with a mako needle in his arm. He'd looked up at Cloud with crystallized ice in his glowing eyes, and had asked, "How far will you go Cloud? How far do you really want to go to be the best?"

_How far will you go?_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"_He couldn't have gotten far. He was on foot."_

"_Unless someone met him," Cloud had responded with a steady gaze before he turned and pushed out the door of the HHI laboratory to find the boy he considered a son._

Ren stops mid-stride, blinking the memory away. Elena is standing in his path, blocking the hallway, fingers hooked in a loose utility belt around her waist. He notes the multiple holsters and pouches attached to it. She is a woman who likes to be prepared. "Sir!" she says officially, inclining her head. "Sir, I have an update from one of my contacts."

"Your contacts?" _She was a Turk once. Is she still?_ He swipes a hand along his hairline. His fingers come away wet. He's exhausted. So utterly exhausted. It feels like he's been raided by a cascade of bombs, leaving him barely able to stand.

"_We'll find him, I promise," he'd told Cloud._

What is he doing promising such things?

"Sir, the SOLDIERs have Denzel."

And just like that, his dazed despondency evaporates with the heat of her words. "Say that again."

"The SOLDIERs have Denzel. There's no mistaking it either, sir. My source is reliable. It's definitely true, so we have to do something. I recommend we attack, sir." She nods her head, as if to reaffirm her speech, but something in the brown of her eyes looks too soft. Her expression is a collection of slight curves—her mouth, her brows, the wrinkled 'j' in her forehead—lines meant to be straight with sureness but weighted with a wavering uncertainty.

"Attack with what?" he says, tone incredulous.

"Well… with everything we've got, sir!"

"A handful of half-trained kids?" He's an idealist, but not an idiot. Or at least, he likes to think this. He'd thought she was the same that night when they met at that run-down bar in Midgar. Then, she'd seemed hard and strong. Unbreakable. But with a stubborn determination simmering under the surface. Is it still there? Is it still there in him?

Cloud was supposed to support him. Instead, he'd walked away disgusted.

"We have to try!" she says.

Ren blinks, shakes his head, and smoothes his hands over his rumpled dress shirt. "Do we?"

Squirming a little, she adjusts her snug top. "Of course!"

He lets his gaze fall over her, swinging around the curve of her hips and down the slant of her legs, planted wide, as if she needs the extra support. It confuses him. The clothes don't match the person he thinks she is, and it makes her looks discordant. That suit he first met her in—it fit her, pulled everything together neatly. Looking at her is a distraction now that grates on his nerves. "Why?" he asks.

_Because you promised, _he answers himself. _You promised to get his kid back. Will you give up so easily?_

Would Zack give up so easily?

_Stop it! Zack is dead!_

He sucks in a deep breath at his own mental outburst. The fabric of his shirt is bunched between his hands.

"Excuse me sir, but I don't understand. The SOLDIERs are a threat. I thought you wanted to protect people."

"What people? Why? I try to imagine who, but all I get is nothing. Everyone I want to protect is dead already."

"Midgar. You said you would take over where your brother had left off. What changed? Just this morning, when I told you Denzel was gone, you were determined to find him. I don't get it, sir. What happened?" She looks genuinely confused.

For a moment, he simply stares at her, too tense to speak. He wonders if he could turn to stone. A statue. A monument. A monument to what? Lost causes?

"_I gotta join SOLDIER, Renny. I gotta do something meaningful… like Maggie always wanted to."_

Ren imagines the sincerity in his brother's eyes as he said those words, the way the light reflected off the thin film of water on deep blue. But the SOLDIERs had killed him. Why? His fellow heroes had killed him.

"Were the SOLDIERs ever good?" Ren asks, and is voice sounds tiny in the large hallway.

Elena tilts her head downward, expression thoughtful. "Yes… I think they were. They were loyal. They followed ShinRa's orders. My sister used to tell me stories of how they would die for the company. That's pretty courageous."

"Follow orders. Even if those orders were wrong? Were bad?"

"But, they had no choice. There are no good and bad orders. There are simply orders. Part of SOLDIER training was loyalty conditioning. They were trained to die for ShinRa… but I guess that means maybe they weren't so courageous after all. I mean, at least, not consciously."

"You've told me that before. When I first met you. You said the SOLDIERs had been conditioned for violence and for loyalty."

"So? What's the problem then?"

"Was it always bad? Was ShinRa always bad?"

She hesitates, and he watches the clouds of a mental battle stormy her expression. "I joined ShinRa because I believed in the company's purpose."

"And what was that?"

"To unite the world. All of it. All the wars and the ugly things were to unite the world." She says it with vindication, with vigor, and with clenched fists.

"You still believe that," he says as a statement.

But suddenly, her confident poise slackens, and even the rigid line of her back seems to bend slightly. Her eyes turn toward the wall. "It was a good cause. It still is."

He's staring at her, because he's shocked by how broken she suddenly looks, and he has to wonder what the trade-off was for being a Turk. How many unspeakable things has she been asked to do in her life? How many has she done without question? She doesn't seem like one to ask questions. She seems like one who simply does her job as efficiently as possible. Again he wonders why she would leave the Turks. It seems out of character for her. And so he asks, "Elena. Are you still a Turk?"

Her gaze flashes to him and there is the quick glint of horror before she ties her expression into a careful weave of shock. But it's enough. He knows the answer. Even though she says, "Of course not, sir!" with the high pitch of surprise.

He smiles. He wonders if that comforts or unnerves her. It doesn't matter. As long as she's helping him, it doesn't matter who she works for. And then he realizes that he is just like her, just like the SOLDIERs were. He chuckles humorlessly, muttering, "The ends justify the means," to himself.

She examines him carefully. "I think that depends on what your ends are, right?"

This time his smile is more genuine. He nods. "Yes, that's right." And what are his ends? He remembers wandering through the forest with Maggie and Zack, searching for monsters because Maggie was determined to protect the town from them.

There's something pulling at his thoughts, snatching him from his memories. Something he's been wondering in some neglected corner of his mind. "Elena?" he asks suddenly. "What do you suppose happened to the remnant of the SOLDIERs to make them what they've become?" It's the part the makes the least sense to him. Whatever their faults before, they are something very different now. The one he met with Jenkins… there was no sanity in those eyes.

Elena shrugs and crosses her arms. "Once ShinRa collapsed after Meteor, the SOLDIERs lost their purpose, I guess."

"They lost their purpose?"

"Yeah. You know… they were supposed to protect the company, but to them it probably looked like there was no company."

"They lost the thing they were protecting."

"Huh?" She twists her lips in a confused expression.

"Heroes without a purpose. That's what they became." And he realizes that's what he's almost become. He thinks about how lost he felt the moment Cloud turned his back and left, how lost he still feels. Is that how the SOLDIERs felt? How they feel now?

"Sir? What are you talking about?"

"What Cloud said. What Zack said. I understand now. We have to have a purpose. Something specific. What are we protecting?"

"Isn't our purpose to save Denzel, sir? We have to protect him, which means we have to attack the SOLDIERs." She says the words like they are a rehearsed script.

"No." The truth was that Midgar had never really mattered to him enough. Protecting the world, protecting people, being a hero… it had never really been _his_ dream. But he had held on to it for so long because of the one thing that _had_ always mattered to him…

"What do you mean?" Elena asks, clearly confused.

"Would Zack have ended up like them if he had been around after Meteor?"

"Your SOLDIER brother? It depends. Not all of the SOLDIERs took to the ShinRa loyalty conditioning to the same degree. It's hard to say."

"Be he could have."

"I guess so."

"Then that's enough. Elena, I cannot kill the SOLDIERs, because they are what I choose to protect."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

The thing in his pocket feels like it must be alive. It radiates such warmth across his right thigh. Cloud braces himself on the motorcycle with his left hand, slipping the other into his pocket to touch the smooth plastic of the vial, the narrowing point leading to a capped needle, the plunger at the other end like a round beacon.

He remembers standing in the mad scientist lab of HHI where the mako injections were given to the children. Children—they were only children, with no idea what was being done to them. It didn't matter that many were as old as Cloud had been when he joined SOLDIER, because one of those children was Denzel and Denzel was too young, too young to be throwing his life away for some idealistic maniac's dream.

_Is he too young, or were you too young?_

And the mako Ren was using… it was obvious just by the color that the stuff was refined, purified, ultra-high quality… In a word: expensive. He'd seen the underground mako dealing operations that wove through Midgar and Edge, had spent considerable time trying to shut some of them down. They all helped in their own way. Barret used guerilla warfare to destroy the mines. Cloud wandered out later at night than any sane person should to terrorize any junkies he could find—an elbow to the chest and a glimpse of his sword generally had the desired effect. Tifa weaseled out all the information she could about the dealers from her alcohol-imbued patrons.

But never had he heard of Life's Blood this pure being sold on the streets. This wasn't intended for a drug addict. It was intended for scientific experiments.

Holding a large canister of the stuff in his hand, he'd looked at Ren with bewilderment written in his eyes and said, "Denzel ran off with this stuff?"

"_Yes." A hesitation, and then, "that container you're holding is a liter. He took five of them. A dosage is 5 mililiters."_

"_This is pure."_

"_It doesn't get any more refined," Ren confirmed with a nod, kneading his hands tensely._

"_Where did you get this?" Cloud demanded._

_Another hesitation. "Well actually, I'm not entirely sure."_

"_You're what?"_

"_He's never given me a name."_

"_Then how does it come?"_

"_A delivery boy brings it."_

"_I'm a delivery boy. No one ever asked me to deliver to you."_

"_It's the same man every time. Long black hair, blue eyes, narrow face. Not very descript really."_

"_You're a piece of work. I can't tell you how disgusted I am."_

"_I was only trying to hel—"_

"_You're handing these kids a death sentence. Do you really think you're concerned about the well-being of the world?"_

"_Of course I am!"_

"_So in order to create heroes to save the world, you're willing to destroy the planet. You know where mako comes from, don't you? I'm starting to sound like Barret."_

"_You're over-simplifying things."_

"_If you weren't Zack's brother, I'd punch you. I'm going to find my boy. I'll be back to deal with you after."_

"_But—do you know w-w-where to look?"_

"_No. But I have suspicions. ...I'll follow those for now."_

That's when the conversation had ended. That's when he'd left the room, Ren trailing behind him sputtering explanations and pleading with him to understand.

Adjusting the goggles over his eyes and shoving stray hair away from his temples, Cloud hugs the contours of his bike. He didn't leave that lab empty-handed.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tifa Strife leans forward in a red cushioned chair, arms braced across her thighs as she drums her fingers against her knees. She's been here in the ShinRa Headquarters lobby for only five minutes, but still she feels eager. Antsy. She can't get Cloud's voice out of her head.

He'd sounded so scared. When was the last time she'd heard him that way?

Denzel had been injected with mako.

She shivers and clenches her fists, the leather of her gloves creaking. There may not be blood between them, but Denzel is her son in every way that counts. This man—Ren—when they get Denzel back, she's going to personally show him exactly what motherly protectiveness means.

"Ahem!"

Tifa's head jolts up suddenly. The young secretary sitting at the high oval desk in the center of the room is staring at her, pointy nose held high under thick-framed glasses. "Mr. ShinRa will see you now Mrs. Strife," she says in an overly sweet voice.

Tifa nods, smiling politely as she stands. "Thank you."

"Fortieth floor. It's the top one."

"Yes, I know," Tifa replies, as she walks toward the elevator bank along one wall of the room. The center of three doors is already open and waiting to receive her. She presses the button for the appropriate floor and listens to the air sweeping by as she rises, remembering when seventieth used to be the top floor. But everything in Midgar is smaller now. She wonders how Rufus still manages to have the tallest building in the city, even after everything that's happened to the ShinRa Corporation in the last half a decade.

He's standing there when the elevator door opens, hands causally in his pockets and a humorless look on his face. The dark blue of his suit is framed by the deep purple of the hallway walls. He smiles amiably and nods his head when his eyes meet hers, bringing his chin up a little too quickly to flick long blond bangs out of his eyes.

"Tifa," he says, holding out a hand for her to shake, "So nice of you to come."

She can't tell if he's being sarcastic or truthful, and it unnerves her, so she looks down at his hand and back at his eyes, thinks about the time he offered the help of Reno and Rude to fight Kadaj a few years ago, and tentatively reaches out her own hand. His grip is firm as he shakes it and his already tempered eyes harden.

"Why did you ask me here, Rufus?" she says, and she tries to keep the distain out of her voice, but it's hard, because she's thinking of Denzel and how this man might be connected.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he turns ninety degrees and bows slightly, gesturing for her to walk down the hall. With a narrow-eyed look, she obeys.

The hallway is long, a large, ornate, wood door at the end carved with the ShinRa crest. It's a sign of wealth and power. Though things have gotten considerably better, wood still isn't cheap, and she knows for a fact that Rufus built this hallway with its wooden trim and magnificent door at the end while wood was still an untouchable sign of kingship. Did all this money come from the power generation business? Burning coal and natural gas isn't cheap and she can't imagine the ShinRa Corporation makes nearly the profits now that it used to when mako was the energy production fuel.

Her eyes dart from wall to wall as she walks toward the door, bouncing between the framed pictures of wildlife. Mostly leopards and large cats with yellow, alert eyes and sharp teeth. She hears Rufus' steady breathing and rhythmic steps behind her and is reminded of the stalking of a predator. She clenches and unclenches her gloved fists, tingling with the sensation of the materia imbedded in them. By the time she reaches the door, her senses are on full alert. "Cloud saw Elena at the Holding Hands International Headquarters," she says, because she doesn't like the tension in her chest, "What do the Turks have to do with HHI?"

"One step at a time. You Avalanche members always want to run before you walk." He reaches past her to open the door and waits for her to enter.

"After you." She eyes him warily.

He smiles and inclines his head. "As you wish."

She follows him inside, studying the calm gait of his walk, startled when the door slams closed behind her. Is it automatic? With suspicious eyes she studies the room—his office. There isn't much to see. One side looks like a lounge area, with thickly padded navy couches around a glass coffee table. A blank screen that could be used for presentations is on the wall nearby, the rectangular outline in the wood-paneled wall beneath it hinting at a door with media equipment behind. The walls on the other side of the room are lined with cabinets, also wood and intricately carved. In the center, is Rufus' desk, by far the centerpiece, vastly oversized and glaringly empty. Nothing, not one paper, not a single knick-knack, no pictures of treasured memories, no sign of a life inside or outside of this office… Nothing. He sits behind that desk of nothing in a high-backed black chair and folds his hands, a meaningless smile on his face that is simply an expression he's chosen to wear, like one might choose a pair of shoes to match an outfit.

"Would you like a seat?" he asks, gesturing toward a chair offset from the front of his desk.

She shakes her head, widening her stance. "No thanks. I just want answers."

"I figured. So Cloud saw Elena, eh? Forget about that though; it doesn't matter. I didn't ask you here to talk about HHI. There are more important things."

"Like what?"

"Like the SOLDIERs and their connection to Denzel."

It feels like someone has punched her in the stomach. With a dry throat and wide eyes, she says, "Connection?"

"Yes." He stands suddenly, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk. The low sun outlines his profile. "This city," he glances out the window and then back at her, "it thrives on mako. The whole world does and it always has. No matter what Avalanche does, people will always crave it for the same reasons they crave a fountain of youth. Do you know what that reason is, Tifa?"

She doesn't answer, choosing the reaction Cloud would give in a situation like this, keeping her expression steady and unreadable.

He looks away, back down at the buildings of Midgar outside. "Because people want to believe they can be something more than what they are. They're never satisfied. Even if you give them everything, they won't be satisfied."

"You're a madman, Rufus."

He runs a hand through his hair to smooth the sleek blond strands and chuckles. "Somebody has to be. It keeps things interesting, don't you think?"

"How is hurting people interesting?"

"Who have I hurt?" he asks innocently. "I've never given anyone anything they didn't want all along anyway."

She doesn't respond, because she doesn't know how to. It's obvious Rufus is tied up in the mako market, but she has no real proof. Nothing more than suspicions and his own cryptic hints. But it's not important right now anyway. Only one thing is: "What do you know about Denzel?"

"I'll tell you a story, Tifa… Once upon a time, my father ran ShinRa Corporation. Then, ShinRa was more of a nation than a company, and nations need protection, so he created SOLDIER. The ultimate warriors. Fearless. Brave. Loyal."

"I know all this already."

"Ah, but did you know that we used to brainwash SOLDIERs as part of their training? We'd teach them to tolerate violence and even to love it. No, not at first, you know. My father wasn't sadistic. At first we just modified the body with mako, but we found that their minds couldn't handle what their bodies could do. They got squeamish with the effects of their swords and shied away from their full potential. Something about the human mind wants to avoid brutality, but it was necessary to break down that block to create the perfect SOLDIER. However, we didn't just teach them to be comfortable with blood. They were taught to believe that they were building a better world. Do you know what that means, Tifa?"

She is silent, glaring.

"It means that every SOLDIER wants to be a hero, but we'll get back to that. Let's continue with the story. I said it was human nature to want to be something better than we are, so it was only natural that we would try to improve on the SOLDIERs."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Ultimate SOLDIER, Tifa. Something more powerful than anything we had ever managed before. It was Hojo's idea really, but it didn't take much convincing for everyone else to get on board with it. Not many people understand how mako really works. It integrates itself into a person's cells, super-powering them, but over time, the effects fade and the exhausted cells are left to disintegrate. Unless, of course, they are given more mako. The purer the mako, the longer the effects last. A well-done mako conditioning like what the SOLDIERs went through will last twenty years or more without further injections, though the strength of the SOLDIER will decline over that time. But Hojo had an idea. What if the SOLDIER didn't need mako injections? Mako is only manufactured Lifestream, right? And the Lifestream is all around us, right? So what if a SOLDIER could absorb the life stream directly? His power would be infinite…"

She's staring at him with wide eyes, not breathing.

"What would that be worth?" he says softly. He turns to her then, hands held out in an imploring gesture. "Huh, Tifa? What do you think?"

"Stop talking in circles. Just tell me what you mean…"

He walks over to his desk again, standing in front of his chair, palms flat on the shiny, polished wood. He stares down at his warped reflection. "We did it." He tilts his chin upward, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. "We made the Ultimate SOLDIER…"

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

There's a way to find Denzel. Cloud knows it instinctively. There are the less-talked-about effects that mako has on a person, effects that can only be known by someone who has experienced SOLDIER-quality mako. As mutilated and artificial as the final product might be, mako still comes from the Lifestream. And that means a connection with life itself.

Zack had described it as a temporary psychic link, only obtained at the height of the initial rush of an injection. It didn't last long, but it left lasting impressions. Impressions deep enough for Cloud to forget who he was once. SOLDIERs used to play games when they took their mako treatments, sitting around their barracks searching for dirty secrets in the brains of their friends. It wasn't very easy. The mako link wasn't that precise; images flooded into the user's mind like shapes in an abstract painting or like a ream of papers scattered by the wind. Making sense of it all was nearly impossible. That was how Zack had described it, before Cloud knew for himself.

And as unreliable as the mako link is, it is even less so with someone who isn't already connected to the Lifestream by their own mako high. Cloud wouldn't even be entertaining this line of thought if he were searching for someone clean.

But Denzel stole 5 liters of mako. And he has already had treatments before.

It's a thought Cloud doesn't like, a thought that makes him feel sick somewhere under the hardened layers of adrenaline and cold, taut, determination. It's very possible Denzel is high right now.

_How far will you go?_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tifa blinks, lips parted. The temperature in the room is cool and she shivers. "It's Denzel…" she says. "He's your ultimate SOLDIER, isn't he?"

Rufus thrusts his arms forward, straightening to his full height from his previous position of leaning over his desk. He smiles and makes a show of applauding. "Congratulations."

"But… how… he had parents, a home… He was just a kid…" Wrinkling her brow, she shakes her head, strands of dark brown hair falling loose from her ponytail.

"Are you forgetting already? Humans want only to believe they can be better. Who wouldn't want that for their son? His father worked for ShinRa anyway, and he got quite a promotion out of the deal." Rufus slips his hands in his pockets and walks casually out from behind his desk. "It was the mother who made a big deal. Oh, at first she was fine. I know, because Denzel was my project, given to me by my father as a coming of age test, I guess you'd say. But then came the seizures and suddenly she was worried all those tests and modifications might not be good for her son. She started threatening to run away and hide him."

"But his parents died in Sector Seven…"

"Yes. They did." The emotion sweeps out of his face as if a bucket of water had just washed away the painted mask of his expression. His lips form a thin line against pale skin and straight brows frame deep-set blue eyes, but they mean nothing. They are only the form of his features with no feeling revealed.

Her breath catches, and her first attempt to speak is a strangled gasp.

Reanimated, Rufus claps again. "I see you understand. Bingo. You win the grand prize."

She speaks quietly, in sarcasm-coated tones. "Somehow, I don't think there's much of a prize."

"No. I guess not." He shrugs. "But I commend you for catching on faster than Cloud probably would."

Glaring at him, she says, "Cloud catches on faster than you think."

"I hope so…"

And Tifa is startled, because Rufus sounds sincere, and she's not sure she's ever heard him sound that way before. "What do you mean?"

"When Denzel escaped Sector Seven, his special abilities had been repressed. It was standard procedure to do that whenever he left a session at Hojo's lab. Of course, the side effect was the seizures. But it wouldn't do to have an invincible kid running around on the streets breaking the neighbor's bike with his bare hands…" He pauses, as if he is waiting for something, then says, "You're not laughing."

She's not sure how to respond to that. Does he really think she could laugh? For the last five years, she has raised Denzel like her own son. But Rufus doesn't understand. She almost feels sorry for him as she says, "It isn't funny."

"You just need to look at it the right way."

"If by right way, you mean your way, then no thanks." She hesitates on the last word, a sudden question sparking into her mind. "Why are you telling me all this? I mean, you've never exactly been forthcoming before. And why now? Why tell me this now?" She's trying to resist the urge to leap forward across the short distance that separates them and punch him in the face.

He sighs heavily and crosses his arms, tapping a finger against his chin. "Because I need you to do something… Do you want to know where he is?"

"Tell me."

"He's with the SOLDIERs."

"He's… how? Why? …Hold it. How do you know?"

"It's my business to know. I've been watching the remaining SOLDIERs for years. They've always been a threat."

"But you said so yourself, they're loyal to ShinRa."

"They're loyal to what they remember ShinRa being. And more importantly, they're addicted to mako. Even that is more powerful than ShinRa loyalty conditioning."

"But why would Denzel follow them? I don't understand!" Her emotions are building, bubbling over in her impatience. She takes a step forward.

"Because when he went to Holding Hands International he was injected with mako. Before we lost him in the chaos of the Sector Seven aftermath, his powers had been sealed, locked away, if you will—inaccessible to him. A mako injection was the key."

"And now?"

"And now he is becoming the ultimate SOLDIER like he was always meant to be."

"But why? Why go to the SOLDIERs? Why not to us? To his family?"

"Remember what I said before. Every SOLDER wants to be a hero. And that includes Denzel. In his mind, joining the SOLDIERs means being the hero."

"And you want us to get him back."

"The SOLDIERs will be invincible with him leading them. They will destroy everything."

"So why not get him yourself? You made this mess."

"Because I can't. Only one person can, and that's Cloud, but only if he does the thing he'll imagine is unthinkable. Cloud was singled out by Hojo for special treatment and that means he's stronger than the average SOLDIER, that is, he would be…"

"Rufus," she says steadily. "You are a very sorry, very pathetic man, and I feel bad for you. But maybe, not quite bad enough." She knows she should hold back, knows that she should wait and see what other information she can get from him, but she can't. She can't because her chest is too tight and her muscles are too tense with the need to hug the boy that isn't here because of the man standing in front of her.

So she lunges forward suddenly, slips a gloved hand out from behind her back, and punches Rufus in the face.

"I don't care about your mako, or your SOLDIERs, or your quest for power. I don't care about any of it. Only one thing matters, and that's my family," she says. Then she turns abruptly on her heel and leaves him gasping on the floor.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Cloud answers his cell phone in one swift movement, pressing his forearm against the handlebars for balance as he uses his other hand to push the phone against his ear as hard as he can. The roaring of the bike surrounds him, the extreme noise matching his insane velocity.

"Hey." He's yelling, because otherwise, he wouldn't be able to hear himself.

"Cloud?" Her voice evokes images of heat wavering off burning concrete, distorted and intense. "I saw Rufus. There's so much. I don't even know where to start. Cloud, where are you?"

His gaze wanders toward the still distant derelict towers of the old mako reactors, backlit by the low evening sun. "Almost passing Zack's cliff, just outside of Midgar. What happened?"

She pauses, and then: "It's better if I just say it, isn't it?" But she doesn't continue right away and he wonders if she's speaking too quietly for him to hear. He moves the phone against his ear, the warm plastic biting into his skin. Then her voice is back and she's saying, "Rufus thinks the left-over SOLDIERs have Denzel. But there's more… I mean, how could there be more after something like that? But there is and I'm not sure what's worse…"

"Tifa?" he asks in strangled tones. He blinks and realizes he's staring at the cliff ledge just ahead. He can barely see the hilt of Zack's sword far above. Now she knows what he couldn't tell her before.

_How far will you go?_

"Cloud… they… ShinRa—Hojo—they experimented on Denzel, when he was just a kid. Before Sector Seven. His parents let them do it. They were trying to make the Ultimate SOLDIER. They experimented on him and then they repressed all the effects so that he would seem normal. But those mako injections you told me about, the ones HHI gave him? They unlocked it all."

Cloud isn't sure he can speak. And if he could, what would he say?

"Hey, are you there?"

"Yeah."

"Please, talk to me. I need you to talk to me right now. I don't know what to think. Rufus said Denzel is invincible. He said with Denzel the SOLDIERs can't be stopped unless you… I don't know what he meant. Cloud?"

"I'm here."

"What do we do?"

_How far will you go? How far Cloud? How far will you go for the love of the people important to you?_ His leg flinches involuntarily, the vial in his pocket bouncing against it. "We save him. There's nothing else we can do."

"But how?"

"Don't worry. I might have an idea. I'm almost at Midgar. Meet me in the alleyway next to the flower shop by the ShinRa building."

"Okay. I'll be there."

"Hey…" He hesitates, tipping his head to the side as he pushes himself to continue, "Remember Denzel's first birthday with us? Remember what he said he wished for?"

She lets out a slow, shuttering breath. "That he could stay with us forever."

"Yeah." Cloud thinks of the shy smile Denzel gave him just before puffing his cheeks out with a deep breath. Marlene cheered as he blew all the candles on the cake out, little wisps of smoke spiraling upwards. Then Denzel smiled again but this time it was an expression of pride and Cloud didn't know how to react because it was the first time he'd seen Denzel look whole and not broken. "Do you think we taught him well, Tifa?"

"Yes… I think we did."

He nods to himself. "Me too."

"We'll find him." And her usual hopefulness is back, lightening her voice.

Cloud smiles. "Right. I'll see you soon."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Cloud didn't mean to stop, but here he is, pulled over to the side of the road under the shadow of the high cliff ledge. He's too close now for even a slivered view of Zack's old buster sword wedged into the ground at the peak, but he doesn't need to be looking at it to see every single line of hard metal and disintegrating rust. It's a memory from a time long ago now, and with every passing year, a little more flakes away.

_How far will you go?_

It never really was a question. Maybe just a method of denial. He would have given his life for Zack. He would have given it for Aeris. He would have given it for any member of Avalanche. By the time Meteor hit, he would have given it for the planet.

_How far will you go?_

The answer was always simple: all the way.

With the earthquake-rumble of his motorcycle engine, he leaves Zack's cliff in a cloud of rising dust.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**A/N:** I think these chapters have been getting longer and longer… I'm worried will start forcing me to split them up. I'm averaging about 20 pages now. I'd make the chapters shorter, but it wouldn't flow right then. I like to have some sort of significant character development in each chapter and that can take quite a few pages sometimes… Anyway, I think I'm trying to say I hope the length doesn't overwhelm anyone.

Thanks for your comments, reviews, and critiques. Sorry I've been a little slow in responding to some of them. You guys have stuck with me for a while and now we're finally into the exciting parts. Next chapter: Cloud goes after Denzel and Tseng makes some important decisions.

And yes, Rufus is pretty evil. But he's not evil just to be evil. He's evil because that's what happens to make sense to him.


	12. Past the Point of No Return

**A/N:** Because whether heads or tails, it's still the same coin…

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Chapter 12 – Past the Point of No Return**

"_Sir… I can't die this way."_

_Tseng shifts to study her cracked, bleeding lips because the purple bruises on her face hurt his eyes. "Don't be such a pessimist, Elena." They are in a small cave, chained to the walls with iron cuffs, barely able to move because they have both been beaten so badly by Kadaj and his brothers._

"_I'm not! It was a statement. I _won't_ die this way. See the emphasis?" Her breath is labored, wheezing and heavy._

"_I see."_

"_Can I ask a question, Tseng?"_

"_You don't need permission."_

"_What makes them different from Cloud? The Remnants, I mean. They said Cloud had betrayed their mother."_

_Tseng considers her question as he twists his hands against the cuffs. If he focuses, moves each muscle very precisely, he thinks he can slip himself free. He almost forgets to answer her, but finally has to concede with, "I don't know."_

_Her voice comes quietly, "I think_ I_ know."_

_He doesn't prod her, but she continues anyway._

"_They were abandoned. Cloud never was."_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"What do ya think she's doing?" Reno's voice screams in Tseng's ear. Pursing his lips in irritation, Tseng lowers the volume on his earpiece. No matter how many times they try to explain to Reno that the ultra-sensitive microphones of their communications devices _do not_ require raising one's voice, the man insists on yelling every over-annunciated syllable.

Reno is smirking as he walks past the bookshop window where Tseng is pretending to peruse the magazines. Tseng considers that Reno is well within the 25-foot blast range of his grenades, but he detaches emotion from that thought and lets it fall through his mind with all the weight of an unimportant fact. His expression is passive as he glances from Reno's retreating form to Tifa, standing across the street, leaning her back against the flowershop façade. Her body language says only that she is waiting, with no indication of what or of how urgent this thing she is waiting for is. Slumped back, hands in her pockets, head tilted back—she is the embodiment of casual boredom.

"Definitely a ten."

"Haha. What was that Rude ol' buddy?"

"Nothing."

"Hmm. I dunno. She's kind of a bit too muscular for me, yo. Seems to be the kind of girl that would take too much control. An eight."

"What?!"

"Wow Rude, I don't think I've ever heard you so… emotional."

"You should be quiet now."

Reno's amplified chuckling is downright excruciating in Tseng's ears. "These communication devices are supposed to be for work-related discussion. Besides, I doubt Rude still has feelings for Tifa after all these years."

"…"

"Well, well, Rude. Why are you so silent, yo?"

"Rude is usually silent, Reno. This is normal," Tseng comments mildly, hoping to cut the banter short.

"Yeah, well, it's not normal for me!"

"Um… sorry?" Rude says unenthusiastically.

Tseng interrupts before Reno can reply, "Work related, please." He remembers just in time to lower his voice, mostly because a woman across the aisle from him trying to read a romance novel is giving him dirty looks.

"It _was_ work related. Before Rude got his boxers in a bunch. Heh. But the point is, why is she standing there? It's suspicious."

Tseng puts down his magazine on growing a better garden and decides to switch to something more fitting with his image. It's not likely that men typically come into this bookstore with a black trenchcoat, long hair in a ponytail, and high tech telecommunication equipment asking for information on how to grow a healthier tulip. He picks up _Motorcycle Weekly_ and places _Gargantuous Gardening!_ in the back of the rack. Then he says, "Rufus said she would be around. He said to expect Cloud too. Maybe she's waiting for him."

"Cloud is coming?" Reno asks.

"According to Rufus. He said if Tifa came, Cloud would no doubt come too." The woman across from Tseng clears her throat loudly. He doesn't bother to look at her. There is finally silence over the headset and Tseng figures it is because no one wants to admit out loud that they are relieved Cloud is on his way. It's almost dark.

They will come soon. Tseng knows somehow. He feels it, and the feeling makes him slide one hand over the pouch at his waist. _Mako. Slave. Addict._

He doesn't want to think, so instead he focuses on his surroundings. It requires concentration, because while his senses are enhanced, sharper than they once were, the time it takes his mind to process what his body experiences takes longer. He turns a page of his magazine and examines the side streets and the shadowed alleys in his view through the store window. The world is darkening, potential hiding places increasing, and the streets have gotten busy with the rush of people going home from work.

And then, from a side street to his left, he sees it. A hooded figure, emerging from the shadows, blending with the crowd. Tseng's eyes dart about, in search of Reno, but the other Turk is out of view on the far side of the ShinRa building.

"Reno, Rude, I think I have a mark. I'm pursing. Reno, back me up. Rude, keep watch." Tseng puts the magazine away abruptly, a little bell hanging from the door ringing as he walks outside. Hands in his pockets and head titled downward, he strolls down the sidewalk, his steps leisurely.

It isn't until he is just behind the hooded figure that Tseng sees Reno turn the corner, red hair making him easy to find. A few more seconds, and they'll have their target surrounded. But when he glances back at the hooded man he's suddenly staring at a pair of blue-green eyes glowing like they are filled with neon. A gun is already in Tseng's hand, hidden in the long sleeve of his coat and aimed at the man's stomach. He takes a step closer, pressing the weapon into his mark's gut, placing his other hand on the man's shoulder and whispering in his ear, "Do not move. I will kill you."

The SOLDIER opens his eyes wider, but there is no fear. With a tentative, awe-filled voice, the SOLDIER says, "You're like me."

Tseng leans back to examine the face in the hood's shadows. A rough beard covers a wide chin, the ruddy cheeks emphasizing the dark black of the hair that hangs around them. He doesn't look like a ruthless killer. He looks like an average middle-aged man in need of a shave and a shower. A smile twists the SOLDIER's lips. "You smell like Life's Blood," he adds.

Tseng cocks his head to the side and raises the gun a little higher. "Quiet. I am not like you." The lie tastes sour on his tongue.

"We've found the special one, the one who will deliver us, the one who will save the Empire. It's almost time." He nods his head with the words, his delirious excitement at odds with the weapon now pointed at his chest. There is no fear in his expression.

Chills raise the hairs on Tseng's neck, and he is surprised; he hasn't felt unnerved in years. The feeling makes him want to speak, to reaffirm his position. "I'm sorry I cannot allow that."

The SOLDIER's brows lower and a frown reshapes the jaw. "The ShinRa boy cannot be trusted anymore. We must save the Empire."

"Rufus ShinRa _is_ the Empire."

"He has betrayed the Empire."

Tseng watches Reno over the man's shoulder without changing the direction of his gaze. Reno is close. Just a little longer. Tseng says, "That doesn't make sense."

The man laughs, a distorted sound, like there is a wall of water between his mouth and Tseng's ears. "We were avengers, and all that! You know how it is!" He stretches his arms out in front of him and cracks his knuckles, shrugging his shoulders as he does. It's a casual expression of youthful pride. "Girls loved us. I mean, we were top of the world and all that! Big strong SOLDIERS! It must have been the uniforms. Whatever it was, they just swooned." He rolls his eyes. "Kinda ridiculous, really."

Tseng is silent, letting the man continue his insane rant. Reno is only several store fronts away.

"Never really had a steady girlfriend though, but you know, I really liked this one girl. Kinda funny really."

Tseng plays along, trying to keep him occupied and calm. He estimates five seconds until Reno is close enough to attack the SOLDIER. "Why?"

"Don't tell me you're naïve, sir! She has a crush on you, Mr. Tseng!"

"I think you're mistaken," Tseng replies. Reno is there now, at the SOLDIER's back, raising his gun.

"I'm not mistaken!" And the man's face is suddenly contorted in anger. "If you do not fight with us, you're a traitor!" Then, low enough that only Tseng can hear, he growls, "We _are _the same."

With the last word still ringing through the air, the SOLDIER rolls across the ground in a flash of heavy fabric, so quickly and so unexpectedly that Tseng's equally fast reflexes are the only thing that keep him from firing a shot that would have hit Reno with the original target no longer between them.

"Shit!" Reno yells, skidding against the concrete as he turns sharply to chase the SOLDIER through the thin crowd. Tseng is a step ahead of him, focused on the flaring of brown robes, raising his gun and squinting along the barrel. He can shoot while running. And he won't miss.

_We are the same._

There is a mother holding a baby in her arms between him and his target. He shoves her out of the way as he pushes past, apologizing purely from habit. The SOLDIER darts into an alleyway and Tseng is only a few paces away.

If he shoots, he will not miss.

A held breath. The warmth of the trigger against his fingertip. The sound of gunpowder igniting. And then the glint of metal as the robe suddenly shreds to pieces.

Tseng skids to a halt, Reno slamming into his back. The SOLDIER is facing them, a large sword held broadside in front of him. The deflected bullet spins on the ground in the space between them.

"He blocked it…" Reno breathes.

The SOLDIER's eyes are wild, and he shakes his head of matted hair. "Why? Why do you fight us. WE ARE THE SAME!" He sounds like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

"We are not," Tseng responds, leveling his gun again. He hears the clink of metal behind him and knows that Reno is pulling out a grenade. "Your mind is damaged."

"Strength has a price."

Tseng recognizes the words as something the SOLDIERs were always told to prepare them for the effects of their first mako treatments. The process was by no means painless. "My mind is still in tact. I take other drugs to counter the side effects of mako."

"Other drugs?" The man looks perplexed.

"Drugs not offered to you." He says it to underscore the difference. He says it to remind himself that he is a sane man. He says it to remind himself that he is a privileged prisoner held in handcuffs and not some common thief behind the forgotten bars of a jail in the cellar.

The SOLDIER's eyes widen and then narrow angrily, but before he can retort, before he can attack with that giant sword, before he can even sort through his convoluted thoughts to remind himself of where he is, Reno throws the grenade.

Twenty-five feet. They are more than that distance away before the ball of explosive detonates and are already blending quickly into the frantic pedestrians screaming for help. The woman with the baby is standing a short distance away, out of harm, a stunned look on her face. Her child is crying.

Reno splits from Tseng without a word, putting a block between himself and the explosion by the time the stunned pedestrians start to crowd a loose perimeter around the smoking alleyway entrance. His voice comes over the headset. "That went well, I think."

"Someone will have to go back and check for a body."

"Do you think he survived?" This time it is Rude's voice.

"No chance. We got him, yo," Reno replies cockily.

"We are Turks," Tseng says, smiling calmly at Tifa as he walks past the flower shop. She blinks past him, obviously distracted by the explosion a block away. "We're careful."

He walks around the block once to make sure he isn't being followed before entering a coffee shop, different from the one he'd been in earlier. He sits down at an empty table and pretends to read a menu.

But he can't focus on the words. He can't even focus on keeping a lookout through the large picture windows next to his strategically chosen seat. He fingers the pouch at his belt with the mako in it and wonders where the nearest bathroom is.

_Mako. Slave. Addict._

_We are the same._

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

She's standing in the shadow of a building, scanning the passerby wandering the streets around the ShinRa tower. Her hands are in the pockets of her black faded jeans, pulling up the hem of her long green shirt that hugs her thighs like a mini-skirt. She has combat boots on and her long hair is tied back in a tight ponytail, the shorter lengths in the front falling around her face. She bites her lip in concern despite her solid, strong stance. It is so familiar, so Tifa. One hand comes to her collar bone, rubbing her shoulder, and he mimics the movement, bringing his fingers to his neck and feeling his pulse under his skin. He remembers:

"_Cloud, do you think we can match heartbeats?"_

"_Dunno."_

"_Wanna try it?"_

"_Sure… But mine is slower than yours…"_

"_Oh, I can fix that…"_

"…"

"_Cloud? What's wrong?"_

"_I was just thinking… That's what you do."_

"_What?"_

"_Fix me. You always fix me when I'm broken."_

She spots him, and her hand drops to her side as she gives him the best smile she can through the worry crinkling her face. He doesn't want to approach her, not right now. He wants to admire her from afar, unseen, unknown, unaccountable to her. Now that she's waving him over, all he wants to do is run back to his bike and speed away with a sword in each hand, wandering the streets until he finds what he's looking for.

But he can't just abandon her. He turned his back on that option the day he came home with her and the kids from the geostigma healing at Aeris' church. Before then, he hadn't been sure, but that day he decided. He looked up at her, water forming a ring of coolness around his waist, children splashing and yelling around him, and she'd smiled in a way that was shyly proud. He realized how much he liked that—making her proud—and his returning smile was more than just a gesture of mirth. It was a promise. He isn't sure if she knew that then or if she does now, but it doesn't matter. It was a promise.

So he walks toward her stiffly, boots scraping against the concrete and the wolf's amulet thumbing gently against his chest. That too represents a promise, a promise to never forget Zack or the things he's taught him.

"Cloud! I'm so glad you're back!" She throws her arms around his neck as she closes the gap between them. He smells sharp citrus on her skin and thinks of the speed and power locked in the body under his arms. It's the perfume she wears when she's ready for a fight. It wasn't until they were married and he got more intimate with her morning routine that he realized she chooses her scents based on her mood. Vanilla means sad, flowers mean all different shades of happy, strawberry means angry, and cinnamon means vulnerable.

He rubs his hands up and down her back and presses his face into her hair, shaking his head back and forth to feel the soft strands tangling in the stubble on his chin and in his eyelashes. Then he remembers the weight in his pocket and the decision he made. He pushes her away.

Holding her at arm's length with a hand on either shoulder, he meets the questions in her eyes with one of his own, "Any sign of Denzel or the SOLDIERs?"

She shakes her head. Loose hairs get caught in the corner of her down-turned mouth. "There was one. The Turks cornered him on the other side of the ShinRa building. They used a grenade. I'm pretty sure he's dead."

"The Turks?"

"They have the area under surveillance. Reno is wandering around, I saw Tseng go into that bookstore and then the coffee shop over there," she waves her hand in the appropriate direction, "and I'm not sure where Rude is, but I figure he's around somewhere."

He nods once and glances away. "Rufus is being careful."

"Something's not right."

"What?"

"Something's not right… with you…" She squints at him, lips tight with intensity.

"No," is all he says.

"Cloud?"

"How far will you go to save Denzel?" he asks suddenly, gaze following the rising stairs of the rusty fire escape next to them.

With a tone firm and serious, she answers, "As far as I have to."

He looks back at her then, willing her burgundy eyes of fine evening wine and hot chocolate mornings to understand the things he doesn't know how to say.

Her hands come to rest on his, holding them against her shoulders. "You've got something planned, but it's something bad…" she says, voice open with realization.

Gaze falling down the line of her neck, he gets caught in the glint of her gold wedding band against his. He focuses on the image, burning it into his mind. He'll need it later, need it to remember…

"What is it?" she asks. "What is it that's so horrible? She presses her left palm against his chest, over his heart. "You're scared. Why are you scared? For Denzel? Of the SOLDIERs?"

"Yes and no." He tries to think of a clearer way to answer. Then, wordlessly, he slips his hands off of her shoulders and reaches into his pocket to pull out one of the vials of mako. Holding out his closed fist in front of her, he slowly uncurls his fingers.

She tenses. "Cloud! Where did you get that?"

"Holding Hands. This is the stuff Ren used on Denzel."

Her eyes flicker back and forth from the mako to his face. "You don't mean to—you can't—Cloud, you aren't going to use that?!"

Not meeting her gaze, he nods once.

"That's crazy. You know what that will do to you. What good is losing yourself again?" She sounds a little out of breath and frantic. It startles him into examining her expression. It's one of unguarded terror. She was the one to piece him together the last time mako poisoning made him forget who he was.

Which is why he's here with her now, holding out a glowing green vial, rather than already tracking down the SOLDIERs with the strength of a mako high.

"You'll bring me back. Like you did last time."

"How do you know I can?"

He looks at her steadily and brushes dark hair from her cheeks. "You can."

"But why? Why do that?"

"Because I can find Denzel this way. I'll be able to feel him." He's told her some of the effects of mako before. She should know about the temporary psychic link. "You said he has Jenova cells like me. That should make it easier. Jenova cells enhance mako, which is why every SOLDIER has a few. But I got an extra dose, and I'm guessing Denzel did too…" He hates the images that rise up in his mind of a young Denzel in one of Hojo's test tubes. He pushes them away, and says, "It's a double edged sword. It makes us stronger, but also makes us much more prone to mako poisoning."

"But then you should stay away from mako, not inject yourself with it."

"I think I can control the effects for a little bit. It's not immediate… just quick. Long enough. I can hold out long enough to find out where he is, to tell you…" He doesn't finish the sentence. She must already know he's going to go after Denzel himself. "I've already decided," he says gently. "You can't change my mind."

"Sacrificing yourself won't solve anything… Cloud, even if you find him… That boy needs you, you can't—" Her voice breaks and her chest heaves with the effort to hold her emotions in control.

It hurts him to watch, so he looks down at the concrete ground with its abandoned wrappers and empty soda cans and says quietly, "I have to. Denzel… to me he's…" He holds his hands out to his sides helplessly, palms up. "He's my son. I don't know how to just watch." Shaking his head and crinkling his brows, he finishes, "I don't know how to just watch my family be broken."

"Cloud, please…" Her voice is small and high, pleading.

He tries to shake the sound of it away. "I have to do whatever it takes. That's how far I'll go to save him. All the way."

"Please…" she says again. There are tears on her cheeks.

But he's decided already, and he knows she can't change his mind. "Sorry," he whispers, and he remembers then, the one other object he's collected today and placed in one of his pockets. He pulls out the blue flower from Nibelheim, the petals flattened but intact. He's always marveled at how resilient these flowers are, how unwilling to wilt or give up pieces of themselves. "Do you remember the last time I gave you one of these?" he asks, holding it out to her in the hand not clutching his mako injection.

She blinks down and nods. "The day you proposed to me." A choked sound presses through her lips and he's not sure if it's a laugh or a sob. "You were so delirious. I was bandaging up a gash on your leg and you held one of these flowers out to me and told me I was pretty with a big smile on your face. I think you were close to passing out, but you seemed as happy as a chocobo."

"I love you, Tifa Strife," he says, pushing the stem of the flower behind her ear to hold it in her hair.

And then, before she can ask any questions, he wraps his arms around her trembling body, leans down, and kisses her.

He pours everything he can into the meeting of their lips, all the love, all the fear, all the pain and the hope. He presses her against himself tightly enough that she gasps and he focuses on every detail. The feel of her warmth, the touch of bone and flesh and muscle under his fingertips. The taste of her lips, salty from the tears. The sound of her breath mixing with his. The scent that is her, naked and bare under the blanket of her shampoo and citrus perfume. He focuses on everything he can. _Remember this. Remember this moment. Don't forget._

And then, as her fingers tangle themselves in his hair, he repositions the mako shot he's been palming and flutters his eyes just enough to see the pale line of her cheek before jabbing the needle into his forearm behind her back. Pulling away enough to whisper, "I love you" again, he presses the plunger and feels cold liquid rushing into his veins.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tseng remembers that one of the first things he learned as a Turk was not to look into the eyes of a mark before killing them unless absolutely necessary. He remembers that because he can't forget the gaze of that SOLDIER. _We are the same._

Tseng has never had the mind of a minion. He has been loyal to ShinRa, but there hasn't been a mission he's taken where he hasn't actively chosen to cooperate. He doesn't leap blindly. He's made mistakes before, and these days he is much more careful. So even now, he is evaluating his mission.

Watching Cloud and Tifa talk in the alleyway beside the flower shop through the window of the small cafe, he pulls out his cell phone and dials Elena's number.

"Tseng?" she question. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes. We caught a SOLDIER. He was across the street from headquarters."

"What happened?"

"He's dead."

She doesn't respond for a moment, but then she says, "Good work," with enthusiasm he knows is false.

So she feels it too. And why not? She knows more about his addiction than anyone. She's watched him change into whatever he is now. He was different when she first met him, before Sephiroth nearly killed him. He feels stripped by the years, reduced to the essentials. _We are the same._

But he knows her. He knows she still has compassion left. She might be the only one of them to have compassion left. So he asks her: "Is it better to kill a broken man or to try to fix him?"

"What is this about?"

"Please, I'm trying to understand."

He imagines her running a hand through her short blond hair, shifting her weight on her feet and thrusting a hip outward like she always does when she's thinking. "Do you wish you had died, Tseng?"

"That's not the point."

"It sure seems like it to me. I mean, I'm not trying to be insulting or anything, but—" She stops just short of mentioning the unmentionable thing.

His forehead creases. "I'm not sure."

He hears her shaky breath over the phone's speaker, and then: "Well I am. I'm glad you're alive, Tseng."

He nods once. "Thank you, Elena."

"I'll be there soon, with Ren and—"

But Tseng doesn't get to hear the rest, because that's when Tifa Strife starts screaming.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Fear first. Just like he remembers. Even after all those injections in Hojo's lab, and the years since then, it is still the same. He panics as he watches memories spiral free from the wrappings of his mind, grasping at the strings of himself with desperate urgency. His senses become too overwhelmed with the past to continue monitoring the present, and Tifa's face fades into the chaos of recollection.

_--Eyes the darkness of the Nibelheim mountain at night as she parts swollen lips. "I love you too."—_

_--"Back then, back then you only got skinned knees."—_

_--"That was a doozy, wasn't it?" Cloud bends over the bloody knee of the frazzled boy. His son. Denzel."—_

_--The orange starburst glint of the setting sun on the buster sword. Zack holds it proudly. "The power to protect…"—_

_--Standing with his calloused thumbs hooked into the pockets of his combat-style pants, Zack says, "I'm gonna tell you this now so you're ready when the time comes, Cloud."_

"_Tell me what?" Cloud places the weapons manual he is reading on the table in front of him. It's late evening, all his barrack-mates are out at the local bars, and as usual, he's here alone. Or he was alone, before Zack came barreling through the door. Why Zack isn't out partying with everyone else on a Friday night, Cloud has no clue. _

"_What to do when you get your first mako injection. You're good with a sword an' those higher-up types are gonna notice eventually. I bet they'll make you a SOLDIER pretty soon."_

"_You think so?" Cloud blushes because he is embarrassed by the childish excitement in his voice._

"_Sure, but you gotta be ready for it. Now listen carefully, okay?"_

"…"

"_Are you listing, Cloud?"_

"_Yep."_

"_Then you didn't you say so?"_

_Blinking in frazzled confusion, he says, "Um… because I was listening!"_

_Zack chuckles. "Okay, okay. Here's the deal. When you first get injected, you're gonna feel like you're falling apart and the pieces of yourself are scattering everywhere and you're gonna panic. But here's the secret. Let go. Stop worrying about yourself and let go, and you'll feel everything around you like you never have before. But you have to let go first."_

_Let go. Had he ever really done that before? "But… what if I can't?"_

"_Listen Cloud, if your hands are full, you can't grab anything else, right?"_

"_Yeah…"_

"_Then you gotta let go to really experience anything around you. That's how the psychic link works."_

"_But what about the things I let go of? The pieces of myself?"_

_Zack shrugs, expression nonchalant, but he stares at the wall to the side of Cloud's head when he answers. "You lose a few. That's the price of power. It's all a question of how far you'll go. So Cloud, how far will you go?" It's a challenge. And a warning._

Cloud takes the challenge and ignores the warning.

_Let go._ He does.

And as his mind, back in the present, explodes, the blast cloud separating the debris of the person he once was, he ignores the fear and the panic and the confusion. He lets only one thought remain clenched to his heart. _Find Denzel…_

He breathes deeply, imagining that he is riding on the exhale of his breath, spreading himself through all of Midgar, searching for what he needs, for the one thing that matters now.

"_Please don't leave me,"_ a tiny voice screams into his brain. It's the voice of a child and it's a voice strangled by fear. Denzel. It's Denzel. His boy, his son—

Cloud blinks, light and shapes and color flooding into his awareness from the physical world around him. There's something touching his arm. He looks down at the ovular joints of the fingers pressed against the slight tan of his skin. He stares at it, squinting, trying to understand what the lines of the sharply raised tendons mean.

"_Don't leave me. Please!" _

He follows the curve of a wrist up the slope of a forearm—_the slope of the valley in spring when the white lilies bloom or winter when the snow falls and coats it in soft drifts of cotton_— Shoulder. He's arrived at the shoulder.

"_I don't want to be alone…"_

Next the neck. And now the face. A woman's face. A face he knows somehow. Lips. The lips are moving. They are saying, "Cloud! Cloud! Listen to me!"

"_Please don't leave me alone."_

"I won't," he responds aloud.

"Cloud!" the lips say again. "You stubborn brute. You have to listen to me. It's Tifa! Focus. You are Cloud Strife. And you have to—"

"Find Denzel," he says, and the words hang suspended in the air before him, coating her face, the wine in her eyes bleeding into them, bleeding into him…

"_Why did you go? We should have stayed together! Why did you go back?"_ The voice is growing more desperate in his mind.

He closes his eyes and sees red. Shades of red and black. Skeletons of buildings reaching up from a pool of rubble and a putrid smell of burning metal and acrid mako.

"_Why did you go back? You were supposed to leave. Why didn't you leave Sector Seven like you were supposed to?"_

And he feels a dark emptiness forming within him, a black hole that sucks at him, leaving him feeling bruised and worn.

He hears words. He opens his eyes and sees the face again, fading into his vision. He knows this face, this woman. He loves this face, this woman. The lips are moving. The eyes are bleeding. "Cloud? Can you hear me?"

"I'm coming," he answers.

"Cloud?"

"I won't leave. I'm coming."

"Where are you going?"

"Sector Seven. To get Denzel." He turns and the hand tightens on his arm. He looks back.

"Cloud…"

He reaches toward a strand of her hair swept up by the wind and brushes it down against her scalp. He doesn't know why he does it, but as his fingers run lightly down her cheek, her name finally comes to him. "Tifa… I have to go."

With a deep, shaky breath and a solemn nod, she releases his arm.

And he is gone.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

The door to the coffee shop practically flies off its hinges as Tseng slams through it, sprinting toward Tifa and Cloud. She's yelling Cloud's name over and over, begging him to respond. An empty syringe is on the ground next to them, a drop of green glittering on the pavement below the needle._ Did he…_

And Tseng knows why Tifa is screaming.

He loses sight of her anguished expression behind Cloud's back as he approaches, and Tseng rests a hand on the holster of his gun. The yelling stops and for a moment he wonders if Cloud may have… He pulls the gun from the holster, hiding it in his sleeve, focused on the space below Cloud's left shoulder blade. He doesn't know who he'll find when he reaches Cloud Strife. A first-class SOLDIER? A Sephiroth clone? A simple delivery boy from Midgar?

Tseng scoffs at that last possibility. Cloud has never been anything simple or straight-forward.

"Reno, Rude, be on alert," Tseng yells.

"Got it boss-man."

"Ready."

Cloud turns suddenly and sprints off down the block. For a moment Tseng is torn, but he sees the dazed look in Tifa's eyes as she stands with one fist clenched to her chest and the other hand pressed to her cheek and he yells into the microphone. "Reno, follow Cloud. Rude, keep watch of Headquarters."

"I see him," Reno replies. "Wow, he's fast, yo. He's gotta have rockets in his shoes or something, man."

"No," Tseng says. "He's got mako in his veins. It looks like he just took an injection. Be careful."

Reno laughs once, darkly. "Looks like golden-boy finally snapped."

Tseng skids to a halt in front of Tifa. An empty gaze gives way to wine-red fire as she focuses on him, flicking hair out of her eyes with a quick shake of her head. A blue flower that had been behind her ear falls free but she catches it swiftly before it can drop past her waist, weaving it through her belt loops. "Tseng, were you watching?"

Her voice is jarringly calm. He remembers that she isn't new to tragedy or fighting. He can tell she is readying herself, tying down her emotions to prepare for battle. She raises one hand, pulling the leather glove tighter against her wrist. It screeches as the fingers flex.

"Yes. We've been paying extra attention since Cloud came."

She nods, then bends to tighten the laces on her boots. "He's gone to find Denzel. Cloud thinks he's at the remains of Sector Seven. I'm going after him."

"If Denzel is there, the SOLDIERs probably are too."

"Then you're coming?" She stands again.

"Yes."

"Let's hurry." She's already brushing past him and running down the block.

He follows. "Rude, stay here," he commands into the microphone of his headset and his long legs leap across the sidewalk. "I'm following Tifa to the old Sector Seven. Reno?"

"You ever see those science fiction shows with those floating hover boards that have those turbo jets in 'em? Next time you tell me to chase a mako-high maniac, I want one. This is friggin' ridiculous."

"Where are you?"

"Almost there, but I'm losing him, yo! Wait… yeah… I just lost him."

"Continue to Sector Seven and wait for us there."

"Roger."

Tseng stops speaking to concentrate on where he is going. It's easy to catch up with Tifa, keeping pace beside her as they dodge people on the streets. He takes the lead, using every short cut possible. His pulse is drumming in his ears, sweat stinging his eyes. He turns sharply down a small side street, crashing through rows of laundry hung out to dry on clotheslines that crisscross the space between the buildings. "Are you still with me, Tifa?"

Her voice is punctuated by pants of breath. "Just keep moving. I can keep up."

They're almost there. The buildings are getting shabbier, uninhabited derelicts left over from old Midgar marring the blocks. Sector Seven is on the outskirts of the present-day city, and though it was cleaned up in the restoration projects that followed Sephiroth's defeat, a skeletal structure of the old reactor and upper plate was left behind as a sort of memorial.

Tseng slows, holding a hand up for Tifa to do the same. He pulls out his gun again, raising it to eyelevel, aiming at the shadows that are lengthening with the dusk of oncoming night. "We're close," he says. "Another block." Her breathing quiets behind him as he scans the faces of the buildings, mostly three-story apartments colored with rust. There aren't any people, at least not visibly, but he knows that the kinds of people that live here are not ones that will show themselves either to the light or to outsiders like himself and Tifa. He's sure the residents are watching them, and he purposely points his gun at the gaping black holes of several random windows to scare anyone from approaching.

At the end of the block the street simply ends. Beyond it, the floor turns into the metal slab of the huge upper plate of Sector Seven. Everything below the plate was pulverized by the force of its collapse. This place is a graveyard of unrecoverable victims. From its surface rise the twisted limbs of destroyed buildings that somehow managed to keep their structural cores standing after they fell from heaven to earth.

He wonders if he should feel anything seeing this, knowing he played a part in it. But it's been so long and he's seen this so many times before throughout the years. He feels nothing.

But he does think of the SOLDIERs that might be hiding there, many of which he personally recruited. He does think of the mako shot he took earlier that is no different than the ones they take, save for a few extra ingredients that mark the line between his sanity and their madness. He does think of the eyes of that SOLDIER, bright blue and sincere, as he said, "We are the same." And he thinks of Elena's words. He should have died once, but he didn't. Is it better to fix a broken man?

Shaking his thoughts away, he whispers, "Reno?" into the emptiness.

"Right here, yo." Reno steps out of the shadows along one of the buildings, swinging his own gun around to scan the street as he makes his way to Tseng's side.

"Did you see where Cloud went?"

"No."

It is unnaturally silent. Tseng walks toward the end of the sidewalk, his boots against the pavement the only noise until Reno speaks.

"It's gotten dark, boss."

"Yes."

Tifa clears her throat gently from behind him. "What does that mean?"

He doesn't look back at her. He takes a slow deep breath of the sour-smelling air that he can taste like rotten milk on his tongue. "It means—"

But he never gets to finish, because that's when the SOLDIERs attack.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: I think this is my favorite chapter so far, just because I've been waiting so long to get into the climax.

And because cliff-hangers are fun.

Next chapter: the battle.


	13. The Art of Being Human

_A/N: Because it is in the deepest trials that the greatest self-discovery can occur…_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

_**Chapter 13** – **The Art of Being Human**  
_

"_Tifa."_

_She looks up from her book and rolls her head against the back of the couch to turn toward his voice. He is standing in the doorway, a very serious expression on his face. Breathing in deeply of the faintly smoky scent that clings to the fabric of the couch as a record of many nights spent before a blazing fireplace, she says, "What is it?"_

"_I just read Marlene a bedtime story." He falls silent, crossing his arms over his chest, as if this is the most profound statement in the world._

_She covers her mouth with one hand as she giggles. "Is that so?"_

_His confused expression coupled with his tough-guy pose and the purple sweatpants he is wearing make him look like an abstract painting. "Yes. Why are you laughing?"_

"_Sorry Cloud, it's just that--" She waves her hand, giggling more, the book falling into her lap with a loud slap against her crossed legs. "Well, you make it sound as if the sun has fallen or something. It's just a bedtime story."_

_It takes him a moment to react. Then, a timid smile tilts his lips. "No, that's not what I meant."_

_She pats the space next to her on the couch and he comes toward her, taking her invitation. "Then what did you mean, Cloud?"_

_Making a show of diving onto the couch next to her, he burrows his head into her shoulder so that his spikes tickle her neck. He gives a satisfied sigh when she laughs, and settles down beside her, both arms stretched out along the length of the couch's back. She tilts her head until it comes to rest on his bicep. His voice is raspy with whispering when it floats to her, respecting the quiet of the moment._

"_I just didn't expect her to like it so much. She was so excited, and it surprised me. I don't think I understand."_

"_What did you read her?"_

"_Oh, your typical prince charming saves the princess story. I don't even remember the name now."_

_She smiles. Marlene has a whole bookcase full of stories like that. There are variations of course, but the basic premise of all of them is pretty much the same. "So she likes fairy tales. What girl doesn't?"_

_He taps his foot against the floor gently and she recognizes it as something he does when he is thinking. Cloud rarely stays still when he is thinking, unless he is brooding or depressed, then he might as well be a stone. "Is that why you asked me to be your hero when we were kids?" he asks finally._

"_Well, I was a girl once too, you know."_

"_Aren't you still?"_

_She slaps his side playfully. "I'm a full grown woman now, Cloud! You should know."_

"_Oh yeah," he says, a slightly teasing quality to his tone. "Anyway," he continues, "does that mean you don't want a hero anymore? You can take care of yourself pretty well, I guess…"_

"_Now you listen here Mr. Cloud Strife, if I'm ever in a bind, I fully expect you to come and save me. Just because we're married, it doesn't mean you're relieved of hero duty."_

_He sighs dramatically. "And here I was thinking I'd finally earned a vacation."_

_She shoves him slightly as she leans against his side. "No vacations for you Mister."_

"_Hmm," he mumbles. She glances up and sees that his eyes are closed, his head dropped backward. It's evening, and he's had a long day, his last delivery forcing him to come home later than usual. "Hey, Tifa?"_

"_Mmm?"_

"_I'm glad you still want me to be your hero. I don't think I could help wanting to protect you. It's in my blood or something."_

"_Of course it is. You're a guy."_

"_Oh."_

_She giggles into his chest. "Don't sound so surprised about it. You really are oblivious sometimes Cloud."_

"_Me Cloud. I oblivious," he says with rough staccato syllables._

_Patting him on the shoulder amiably, she says, "Okay big boy, it's definitely time for bed."_

"_Yes, M'Lady."_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7_  
_

Dust and the bitter taste of metal in her mouth. Coughing, Tifa opens her eyes, not knowing when she closed them, and sees red concrete bathed in the dim light of dusk. The scrapes on her cheeks and hands burn, advertising their existence in her awareness as she lifts her sprawled-out body onto her elbows. Her arms are also tinted red. Blood? Whose? How much? She cranes her neck to look up and sees the edge of a building, the metal siding bleeding rust onto the ground in static rivers of sediment. Not blood then, but—

Her memories come back to her as she sits on her knees and surveys her surroundings. Across the street and a few buildings away, Reno and Tseng are standing back to back, completely surrounded by five robed men holding buster swords.

SOLDIERs. She breaths in sharply both from pain and realization as she stands quickly. They'd come out of nowhere—no, not nowhere, but from the roofs. She remembers. There was a rustle in the wind above and when she'd looked up there had been thick robes of fabric and glowing blue eyes and the glint of metal falling from the sky. And then—and then she woke up here, on the ground. How far had she been thrown? Her joints ache with bruises, but she can move. She can fight. She takes a step toward the Turks.

"Are you sure you should do that?"

She spins, fists raised, as a SOLDIER walks out of the shadows of the building she'd woken up beside. He has a long scar along his jawline, red like the rust that stains her skin, and his eyes are blue-green, phosphorescent, casting an eerie pallor on his pale skin.

_He was behind me and I didn't even know. He could have killed me._

"Are you sure you should do that?" he repeats, "When your opponent is right here?"

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"Tseng…"

Tseng tilts his head back ever-so-slightly, pitching his ear toward Reno. They are back-to-back, with only enough space between them to allow them each to freely maneuver. Five SOLDIERS surround them, all with massive swords held up in a ready stance.

"Seems like overkill to pit five against two. Maybe they're scared." There is a sauciness in Reno's voice, a rebellious challenge.

Tseng acknowledges his partner's desperate courage. "Perhaps."

A soft clinking tells Tseng that Reno has a grenade ready. "Why aren't they attacking, yo?"

"They may want to take us as prisoners." Maybe they think they can barter with Rufus. Tseng smiles sourly, knowing that Rufus would never hand over ShinRa Corporation, even for the lives of his beloved Turks.

One quick laugh precedes Reno's next words, "Forget that. It'll be way cooler to die in a blaze of glory than to surrender to these freaks."

Looking down the barrel of his gun, Tseng wonders how many shots he's fired in his life and how many more will. "Who said anything about dying?" he says calmly, and he remembers being held prisoner with Elena by Kadaj and the other Remnants. _I won't die here._

"Yeah, that's right boss. I'm too young and good lookin' to die." His voice drops and he whispers, "You ready?"

"Couldn't be more." Tseng slips his hand onto the hilt of his second gun. He focuses on the two SOLDIERs facing him, trying not to make eye contact, trying not to be startled by the familiarity of that brilliant, luminescent blue. _We are the same._

"Then hold on to your black-silk boxers, because this is gonna be a jolt, yo."

"How do you know I--?"

"Elena," Reno responds, and Tseng can hear his malicious smirk. "Elena drunk."

Then there is the ringing of the metal pin hitting the street a moment before Reno's grunt as he throws the small bomb. Heat and the rumble of splintering concrete, a flash of light that submerses everything in a threatening red glow. Smoke rising over his head. The smell of burning interweaved with the air he breathes. He can feel the blast deep in his chest, reverberating through his bones. For someone who isn't used to such a thing, the effects would be devastating.

Tseng barely blinks. He pulls out the second gun and starts shooting warning shots with both weapons at once, moving as he does, diving through the space between two SOLDIERs under the cover of the explosion. But he doesn't escape the circle of enemies unscathed. When he rolls back to his feet with both guns leveled at the two men facing him, there is blood running down his right arm and a clean rip in his sleeve over his shoulder.

He quickly evaluates the situation. Through the smoke, he can make out one body on the ground, one struggling on his knees, and another two standing, facing each other in fighting stances. A spark of lighting indicates that one is Reno, holding his electrified nightstick.

And Tifa? What about her? She should be somewhere behind him. He'd seen a SOLDIER hit her with the broadside of his sword when they first attacked, but Tseng can't afford the glance over his shoulder to see if she's still unconscious. He can't afford it because the two SOLDIERs are advancing, eyes darkened and hardened into sapphires.

"Don't fight it," one says. It's hard to see their faces in the dark of night and the flickering shadows cast by the small fire left by the explosion.

"Yeah, don't fight it," the other parrots.

"You'll lose."

"Yeah, you'll lose."

"Because we can dodge bullets, ya know."

"Yeah, yeah, we can dodge 'em."

"It's nothing against you. We're just building a better world."

"Yeah, a better world!"

"I know you understand. You have the mako eyes."

"Wonder how he got those?" It's the first time the second SOLDIER says something unique, and he smiles proudly, as if he is impressed with his own contribution to the exchange.

"If you do not surrender," Tseng says, "we will be forced to kill you. Two of your men are already down with just one of our weapons."

The first SOLDIER laughs, obviously the more intelligent of the two. The sound is like breaking glass or high-pitched static. "Surrender? Did you think this was all of us? We're just the scouts. Look." He uses his sword to point down the street toward the opening of Sector Seven.

Against his better judgment, Tseng turns his head to look. What he sees are the shadows of an army of men emerging from the ruins, crossing the line between the graveyard of the old city and the first streets of modern Midgar. Even though Tseng never expected there to be so many of them, he doesn't flinch. Watching with cold eyes, he doesn't gasp. Raising his hand to the emergency speed-dial button on the earpiece of his headset, he doesn't even blink.

Rufus' voice comes almost immediately, tinny with the distortion of technology. "Tseng? What is it?"

"Sir," Tseng responds, quiet enough that the SOLDIERs in front of him won't hear, but loud enough to be sure Rufus does. "Leave ShinRa Headquarters. Hide somewhere they won't find you."

"What's happened?"

"There are too many sir, we can't protect you."

"What are you seeing?"

"It's hard to say, about thirty or forty crossing into the main city from Sector Seven. I don't know how many more may not have shown themselves. I don't think they had planned on attacking just yet. It's likely we cut off their preparations, so that may buy you some time. Rude is still guarding Headquarters. Take him with you."

"I understand."

"Sir… I always wondered if I would thank you, when this day came, for what you did…" Tseng is sure Rufus knows what he's referring to. It was Rufus alone that salvaged his broken body after Sephiroth nearly killed him.

"And?"

Tseng bends his knees slightly, readying himself. "Thank you, sir," he says. "Tseng out." Hitting another button to hang up the call with the butt of his gun, Tseng lunges forward to the beat of exploding gunpowder and ricocheting bullets.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tifa Strife began training in martial arts when she was fourteen, almost immediately after Cloud left for the army. When she first started, it was so she could one day prove to him that she could be strong too. He'd left her, and though she was just a child and they were nothing more than friends, she felt abandoned. She admitted it to no one, but it was true. So she trained. Even though she made Cloud promise to be her hero, she trained so that when the time came, she'd be able to save herself.

Two things happened since those initial motivations however. First, her father had been killed despite all her martial arts prowess, showing her how vain all her talk of being strong was, and second, Cloud had returned, and he was so much stronger than she had ever expected he could become. She realized then that competing with him wasn't what she needed to do. Though he came back with power, he came back empty and confused too. No, her job was to save him. When he tried to leave after blowing up Reactor 5 with Avalanche, she stopped him by making him remember his promise to be a hero for her, but what she was really doing was promising him that she would be there too when he needed her.

That's why she has to survive this. She has to be alive to piece his mind back together when this is all over.

"Why do you fight for him—for Rufus? He is not worthy to lead." The SOLDIER seems genuinely perplexed as he walks toward her, the point of his sword dragging sparks along the ground. The light from the fire left by Reno's grenade blast a few buildings away causes the blade to vibrate with a play of shadows and orange reflections.

"I don't fight for ShinRa," she says, wiping her lips with the back of her gloved hand. "I fight for my family, for the safety of others."

"But so do I."

She doesn't know what to say because his tone is completely genuine. Finally, she shakes her head, as if to shake away the surrealism of the moment, and responds in defiant tones: "I don't believe in hurting others for my own agenda. I don't believe in hurting other people's families. Tell me, where's Denzel?"

The man smiles, and the scar on his cheek twists, but the smile is so sad and the scar so tragic-looking that he appears more like a sane man that has lived a hard life than a crazed warrior. "Lies. So many lies. Tinu would have laughed. He would have laughed and laughed and then told me some story about his childhood. And me? I'm going to look you in the eyes and simply say, 'Number Five Mako Reactor'. Was that not your own agenda? People were hurt. Fellow SOLDIERs died in that explosion. They were part of my family."

Tifa shivers. The man is relentless, moving towards her, pressing her with his words. She almost takes a step backward, but she props herself up on her sense of purpose: "Please… tell me where Denzel is. We don't have to fight. No one has to fight anymore. No more families need to be hurt. We can talk…" Does she sound desperate? She is trying so hard not to sound desperate. But somewhere in the middle of her speech she glanced to the side and saw the army of SOLDIERs approaching from down the block. She knows instantly. Too many. There are too many for them to fight. Even with Cloud. Where is Cloud?

"The time for that is past. The old ShinRa Empire will rise again." He raises his sword above his head and charges forward.

If Tifa's reflexes had been any slower, if she had kept up her martial conditioning any less, she would not have dodged in time. But when the blade strikes the concrete with the sound of a thousand nails across slate, she is next to it rather than under it, and a moment later she is next to _him_, sending a high kick toward his chin. He takes the hit and barely staggers, moving his head naturally with the impact, swinging his sword for his second attack even as his jaw slams audibly shut. She ducks under the blade as he aims to swipe it across her middle, taking her change in altitude as an opportunity to sweep her leg into his knees.

She thinks she has him. She thinks, that maybe she has won. She thinks that she will follow up with several punches to the head and a heel to his hand so he will drop his sword as he begins to fall to the floor.

So wrong. She is so wrong. Because on his way down, as she is standing to deliver her final blows, he head butts her in the gut. Air rushes out of her lungs like an exorcised spirit and all of her muscles stiffen as she staggers backward, clutching her stomach reflexively. And he's coming. So fast. Too fast for her to recover. How can he be so fast? He's jumping to his feet with unreal agility and he's raising that gleaming sword. And she can't move. He's coming and she still can't move.

_Please… move, please…_

Her body remains frozen, doubled over in pain, but she catches a glimpse of something blue tucked into her belt.

The flower Cloud gave her.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"_Tifa."_

_They are standing in an open field, wild grass sweeping against her bare ankles. Tifa looks up at the scarred and worn face of her martial arts instructor and squints because the sun is casting streamers of light through his dark brown hair. "Yes Master Zangan?"_

_His chest inflates with a deep breath to emphasize the weight of his words. "You have become a strong fighter. You have performed every move I've taught you with the most precise control and form. Yet you still have not mastered martial arts."_

_It's completely unconscious when she plants her hands on her hips. "What's left for me to do? Teach me, I'm ready!"_

"_Ha! Eager as always child, but that's exactly the problem." He leans close, bending at the hips. "You are always eager," he says, scolding her. Straightening again, he continues, "It makes you predictable and vulnerable. When you fight, you must feel the flow of the battle. You must know when to be eager and when to be patient and relax."_

_She taps her foot and purses her lips. "Relax? But I'm fighting! It can't be okay to relax."_

"_Aaah, you're still so young. It will take maturity for you to understand, I think. But here, I'll give you an example. Those flowers you like so much, the ones that you always pick along the mountain road, do they bloom all year round?"_

"_Of course not." Wiping sweat from her forehead, she watches a bird hop through the grass._

"_Well why not? There's life to live isn't there? They should simply stay bloomed all the time."_

"_But they can't. When the snow falls they die."_

"_Why?"_

"_It's too cold, I guess."_

_His sigh is grandly overplayed. "No, no, Tifa. You're missing the point again. How do you know when it is spring?"_

_The bird flies away and she finally looks back at him. "When the flowers bloom."_

"_Exactly. They die so that they can live again. If the flowers didn't bloom in spring, how would we know the seasons? Nothing exists in a constant state of being. Things must always change. You must be the same. In a fight, there is a time for action and a time to simply relax and let it all go."_

"_But how am I supposed to know which time is which?"_

_Her instructor smiles somberly. "Experience, Tifa. That's the only way. When you are older, and more experienced with life, you will understand. You will feel it. And I am sure this feeling will save your life one day."_

_She shrugs and cracks her knuckles. "I guess so. Hey, I'm ready to train more now!"_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tifa watches the blade move toward her with a frozen expression of shock.

Is she going to die? Is this the moment? Did she come all this way to die in this moment? Is she ready? Is she satisfied?

No, no. The answer is no. She prays to whatever God will hear.

And then she listens to the words of her master from long ago, and relaxes. Every muscle in her body goes completely limp. Even her breath seeps out of her lungs. She falls with the body of a rag doll.

And the blade whizzes by overhead.

Rolling out of the SOLDIER's range, Tifa slips two tiny balls of glowing materia from the pouches hidden under her belt and pops each one into the slot at the wrists of her gloves. The imploded masses of manufactured energy feel cold against her skin, but they warm almost instantly as she imagines an open channel between their power and the life in her own body.

Her fists close with a new strength as she stands and faces the SOLDIER. Sometime after their battle with Kadaj and his brothers, Avalanche had decided as a team to stop using materia except for extreme emergencies. '_We're being hypocrites gang! Materia comes from the planet too!'_ Barret had said.

Tifa figures this counts as an emergency. The SOLDIER turns on her with predatory eyes and she realizes something has changed in him too. The man she saw for a moment, the one who seemed to be almost normal, a human with a heart and ideals, is gone.

In his place is a trained animal. He even growls as he charges toward her.

But when he swings, Tifa jumps at the exact moment, lands on the flat of his sword, propels herself upward, and flips back down with her foot aimed at his head. As the momentum lifts her hair and smoke assaults her eyes, she yells, "I cannot die here."

The next sound is her foot impacting with his skull.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"You are determined."

Elena breathes in sharply, surprised out of her despondency by Ren's words. What had she been thinking about? Blinking at the road ahead, she wonders how she's managed to be driving the large van without paying attention for so long. As far as she can tell, she hasn't crashed into any oncoming traffic during her daydreaming. Finally registering Ren's words, she replies with, "What do you mean, sir?"

Ren taps a finger against the dashboard once. "Your expression. Ever since you got that phone call earlier, you have had a look of purpose on your face."

"Really? I guess that makes sense though. I suppose I'm worried."

"Worried about who? The children? The city of Midgar?"

"No, my—" She stops mid-sentence and has the sudden urge to cover her mouth.

"It's okay Elena, I've figured it out already. You're worried about the other Turks, aren't you?"

After a long pause, she finally says, "Yes. …How did you know?"

He shrugs tightly, and stares out the windshield. "It just made the most sense. But I don't really understand. What does Rufus want with me or HHI?"

"I don't know. He never told me."

Ren nods. "Elena?"

"Yessir?"

"I will do whatever I can to help you save your friends. No more people should have to get hurt."

She is touched by his words and his naked sincerity. Smiling gently, she says, "Thank you."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Acadia sits in the back of the van full of the other Holding Hands International kids. Long benches line three walls of the rectangular interior, the closed hatchway in the back wall preventing further seating. She leans into one of the corners, thinking of Elena on the other side of the bulkhead, driving the van. Ren would be sitting beside Elena, and behind them another identical van was being driven by Jenkins. That was the one that carried their weapons.

"Hey, Acadia! Are you dead?"

"If I say yes, will you stop talking to me?"

"Why are you always so mean?"

"It relaxes me."

"Don't listen to her, Paul. The Spider is probably just scaaaaared."

Acadia smiles icily at the two boys sitting across from her. "Wow, you got me all figured out."

The boys snort almost in unison, whispering something to each other that she doesn't care to hear. Rolling her eyes, Acadia sighs and looks away. It's not important anyway. In fact, she's not even sure if the boys or even herself are real. What is reality? She's had a hard time figuring that out ever since Sector Seven fell and everything she'd ever considered constant and reliable disappeared.

"_Don't go back there little girl! The whole plate—it just—how could it? Don't go! Everything's destroyed!"_

She's being honest when she says that being mean relaxes her. She likes the reactions she gets from people, a confirmation of her ability to have some small influence on this world—proof that she exists. That was what her father said the day he left home, years before the plate above her neighborhood collapsed: "You're too young, but one day you'll understand, Cadie. I need to prove I exist. I hope when I come back home, I can explain it to you better. Take care of your mom and your younger sister for me."

He never came home. He never got to explain.

But she thinks she understands anyway. That's why she's here in this van, following Ren and tolerating Elena. They offer her the one thing no one else could: to become like her father. To become like the one person she hates most.

When she first met Denzel, there was something in his eyes that reminded her of her father's quest. She doesn't know why, but in the two weeks that she's known him, that something has been lost. Not just hidden behind his ever-present sunglasses, but clouded over.

When she finds him, her plan is to scream at him and beat him up until those clouds clear and the sunglasses break.

It will be one more proof she exists.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Tseng's first shot only grazes the leader of the two SOLDIERs in the sword arm. The second hits the following SOLDIER in the foot.

Something inside Tseng twists because he thought he was aiming at their hearts and he never misses. Never. Even before he became a mako addict, when he had had only had one or two mild injections as part of his initiation into the Turks, he had been a good shot. Now his aim is perfect.

But he missed their hearts, and the SOLDIERs are still coming, a slight limp the only sign that he's hit either of them at all.

Blinking eyes made watery by smoke and dust, Tseng aims again, both guns at once. Two more pops sounds as the backlash of the weapons vibrate through his steady arms. But the second round of shots misses too, and Tseng knows it isn't a fluke. He's missing on purpose.

His head whips to the side with the SOLDIER's first punch and Tseng spirals through the air. He catches the ground with his hands and his toes, cart-wheeling smoothly back to his feet. The attacking SOLDIER is still close enough that Tseng manages to slam the soles of his boots into the SOLDIER's face on the way up, followed by a quick jab of Tseng's gun to the nose.

They break away. There's a numb feeling in Tseng's jaw and a sharp pain in the back of his mouth. He spits a tooth out, whipping a trickle of blood from his lips. It's the same color as the red tinged with green that seeps from the SOLDIER's nose.

"You could have used your sword to kill me," Tseng says, straightening his posture and letting his long trenchcoat fall from his shoulders. The fabric pools at the ground with a swoosh of air.

Crouching down, the SOLDIER places his massive sword over his knees like a table and leans his elbows on it. He seems oblivious to his injuries. One sleeve is ripped at the forearm, showing bulging muscles and a graze left by one of Tseng's wayward bullets. The other SOLDIER, probably his partner, hangs back, his weight shifted to relieve the foot Tseng shot. It's obvious they fight alone when they can. Tseng wonders why. It doesn't seem to make tactical sense.

"You could have used your gun. Even though we would have dodged. But you didn't even try," the crouching SOLDIER responds.

"I shot at you."

A sudden sardonic grin, "No, no, no. You didn't. I'm smart enough to see."

Tentatively, Tseng rubs his jaw. It doesn't seem to be broken. "You could have killed me anyway," he says. "I was distracted."

"I was curious." He says it matter-of-factly, as if it should explain everything.

"Curious?! You're always curious!" The other SOLDIER takes a step forward, eyes blazing.

A hand shoots up in a signal of silence. "Shut up!" He turns back to Tseng. "Why shoot with no intention to kill? You want to join us?"

"No."

"Then why?"

Tseng looks away for a moment, sees the dampening flames of the fire, watching the silhouettes of Reno fighting another SOLDIER, illuminated by intermittent flashes of electricity and metal-on-metal. The army of SOLDIERs has started to scatter, men disappearing into the alleyways, on top of the buildings, climbing up the fire escapes, blending into the night. Disappearing. Invisible. Silent killers. Finally, Tseng answers, "Because we are the same."

"What does this mean?"

"We are the same, but I don't want to be like you." He lets his guns slip from his hands. They clatter against the concrete like shed chain mail. "I want to be a man again. When I shoot something, I never miss. I've been invisible for so long, ever since I became a mako addict. Without my guns, I could likely die, just like any man. This fight…" He pins the lead SOLDIER with an unwavering stare. "This fight, will be the most real thing to happen to me since the time I woke from the dead."

Another grenade sounds down the street. Neither Tseng nor the SOLDIERs turn to look. Slowly, the lead SOLDIER stands. His sword falls from relaxed fingers. "I'll fight like you."

"Like him, like him, like him! Wait, why?!" The other SOLDIER shouts.

"I'm curious to be a man again."

And Tseng smiles, because they really are the same. He nods and crouches, ready to fight again. As he and his opponent charge towards each other, he thinks the last human thought he may ever have the chance to think: _Thank you Elena. I'll die here, but maybe in the end, you'll respect me more than you have for years because of it._

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

When Denzel was younger, he was afraid of thunderstorms because they reminded him of the Sector Seven collapse. He saw burning rubble where others saw lighting, and heard buildings collapsing where others heard thunder. Often, he would go running into Cloud's room, since this was before she and him were married, coming up with some excuse that would allow him to stay while still maintaining some childhood pride.

Tifa completely understood. Thunderstorms reminded her of the fire that burned Nibelheim and the death of her father. Nine times out of ten, when the sky began flashing with light, she was in Cloud's room along with Denzel, trying to find a legitimate excuse to spend at least part of the night. Usually Marlene would join them soon after, not because she was afraid of the storm, but because she didn't like being left alone. It seemed that Cloud was the only one _not_ scared of something.

But then there were those storms when Cloud wasn't home. On those occasions, Denzel came to her, and Tifa found that she could stop being scared, at least for a little while, if that's what Denzel needed. She could still her trembling, could kneel down, look him in the eyes with a steady gaze, tell him everything was okay, and hug him with strong arms. She could do it because she was the closest thing Denzel had to a mother and she loved him just like a mother should.

It's the thought of holding him tight, of whispering kind words in his ears to dull his fear, that keeps her fighting now. Even though she is weakening, even though she is tired and wounded, she has to stay strong, because Denzel needs her. He needs her to put her arms around him, wherever he is. She's sure of it.

She flips out of the way of the SOLDIER's sword in time to earn only a thin rip across the one knee of her jeans, looses her balance as the fabric sags and catches on her toes, and falls into the SOLDIER's waiting fist. Straight to her gut. A hurricane rushes out of her lungs and tears fall from her eyes like rain. In the distance, the air cracks with the whip-snap sound of a grenade. But she imagines the face of her son and rolls to the ground, trying to get some distance between them.

The SOLDIER is right with her, kicking her in the side with a heavy boot. She groans as she feels ribs break. For a moment, she is too dazed to think, until the adrenaline comes and she surges to her feet. "I won't let you have him!" she says, staggering. Her body finally stabilizes in a half-bent position with her hands on her knees.

_Let him think you're weak, Tifa. Let him think you're broken._

Even though she can barely breathe and there is a choked sob that comes attached to every intake of air, even though her hands are going numb and her materia is fading, even though there are crisscrosses of near-misses covering her body and clothes, even though spots dance before her eyes, Tifa gets ready to attack. She steadies her trembling legs and slides her feet against the dust-coated pavement for better traction. Then she lets everything go. No fear. No pain. No holding back. She dives forward.

But as her fist comes toward her enemy's ribcage, her reckless momentum pulling her too hard for her to stop, she sees his sword coming toward her in a perfect strike aimed at her heart. She is going to die.

_Even the blue flower that grows by the roadside has to die someday._

_You promised you'd save me!_

_Is this how it ends?_

_Denzel!_

She waits for the point of light captured on the tip of a monster's blade to rips through her chest as her mind bursts into a cacophony of abstract emotion meant to capture the terror of leaving everything she loves behind.

And then—then there is another point of light. Two blades and a spark and an arm around her waist. They spring through the air and her feet are on the ground again. There is the familiar scent of sweat and mud and motor oil. She looks up through the blurry lens of tears. "Cloud… you came!" Her voice is a focused breath of strained air.

He looks down, eyes slightly unfocused, but she knows he recognizes her, somewhere underneath his mako haze, because he says, "All women want a fairy tale. I don't get relieved of hero duty. She said so."

Tifa smiles, turning her head into his side. "That's right." Her knees give out then and she slips in his grasp, his arms pressing against her broken ribs. Strangling a scream, she grabs his waist, pushing her fingers into the hard bone of his hip and squeezing her eyes shut. "We… can… fight together… now…" she gasps.

His arms switch their grip on her, and he lifts her up wedding-threshold style. "I'm not relieved of hero duty," he repeats.

She turns her head to see the SOLDIER watching them from a few feet away. There is no expression in is suddenly-dull, blue eyes. He is a statue, sword hefted over one massive shoulder, a stance that is passive, but ready. Will he really let them go? Won't he attack?

"Wait," Cloud tells the SOLDIER.

The SOLDIER nods, with some secret understanding.

Then Cloud is carrying her up the closest fire escape, deft steps barely making a sound against the rusty steps. He is so graceful, so smooth, so careful. When they reach the roof, he places her gently down, far enough from the edge that she won't fall. He stands to leave. She grabs his hand.

"Promise… you'll… come back."

For the third time he says, "I'm not relieved of hero duty."

She smiles. "No… you're not…

"A fairytale needs a princess," he continues. His eyes search her, cataloguing her injuries with deft accuracy.

She takes a sharp intake of breath, placing her hand on her side. "I'll… be okay… waiting… here…"

He nods once, and then he really is gone.

Her world fades to black.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**A/N:** I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I haven't had much time to write lately. In a perfect world, I would just simply quit my job and make a career out of writing.

Thank you to all my new readers! I've gotten a bunch of new favs for this story recently. It's encouraging.

I apologize in mass for the extremely late response to all of your wonderful reviews. Not having much time to write also meant not having much time in general…

Thanks for reading everyone. As always, crit is welcome.


	14. The Past Present

**A/N: Because life has a way of coming full circle…**

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Chapter 14 – The Past Present**

Rude is standing alone at the entrance to ShinRa Headquarters when Elena pulls the van to a screeching halt at the curb line. Barely putting the vehicle in park first, she shoves open the door and hops out into the street with a million questions struggling for dominance on her lips. The one that wins is: "Where's Tseng and Reno?"

Rude shifts his weight, his body belaying the tension the dark sunglasses hide in his eyes. "Sector Seven." His deep voice is almost swallowed up in the sounds of children pouring out of the backs of the two HHI vans.

"What are they doing there?"

"That's where the SOLDIERS are entering the main city." Rude raises his eyebrows above the tops of his sunglasses and nods toward the children behind Elena. "What are _they_ supposed to do?"

She ignores his question, still caught on the word 'SOLDIERS'. "You mean the two of them are trying to fend off a whole army by themselves?!" The panic drives her heart and fills her voice.

"No… Cloud and Tifa are there."

"Great!" Elena throws her hands in the air and rolls her eyes. "We're going after them then." She's turning to start giving orders to the chaotic contingent behind her when Rude's hand on her shoulder stops her.

"You can't. Our orders are to stay here and protect ShinRa."

Something in Elena snaps. She can't really say what it is, but when she looks back at Rude she isn't the rookie Turk that loves to follow orders. Reaching up, she grabs Rude's sunglasses and pulls them off his face so she can see the eyes he loves to hide. There is the quick flash of fear, an expression like he has suddenly been caught naked, before he controls it with cool professionalism. "Rude," she says, "They're our partners."

Crinkling his brow in confusion, he says, "But Rufus is our boss."

Behind Rude the giant structure of the new ShinRa tower reaches toward the night. She looks up, follows the straight lines that angle toward each other in distant perspective. She thinks of the man on the top floor, so far away, just a distant spot among the stars. No, not among the stars. Below them. Just like she is below them. Just like everyone is below them. She doesn't know that man. She never has. Maybe there is no real man to know. She knows Tseng. She knows Reno. Shaking her head slowly, she asks, "What does that mean?"

Tseng is alive because of ShinRa. Denzel's parents are dead because of ShinRa. The world was once supported by ShinRa. The world was almost destroyed by ShinRa. What does it all mean?

"It means we follow orders." Rude's voice is soft, both in volume and tone.

Her eyes fall back down the walls of the ShinRa tower to find his. "I'm not sure anymore. I've never been sure of anything, and that's why… Rude, I've never made a single decision for myself. I joined ShinRa because my sister joined ShinRa." Her mind feels smothered by a web of ideas she has no idea how to sort. "All I know is that I'm a Turk."

"A Turk is a ShinRa bodyguard."

"No… I know this will sound silly, but to me, the Turks are a family. I've got to help them, Rude!" She hands back his sunglasses and turns away to make the necessary arrangements with Ren, but behind her she hears Rude's voice clearly.

"I'll come too."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

He is a blade of grass slicing through the wind with a slight rustling of _purple fabric and navy blue, the uniform of a hero, of a warrior—"Is this mine? If it fits it must be, but who am I?"_

He is the predator that slices the night with glowing eyes and a spiked mane. Pausing to choose the right moment, to wait for his opponent to shift his weight, concrete creaking a signal to hyper-sensitive ears. Just a moment—and now! Tendons contract with whip-snap speed and he is catapulting through the air toward the blanket of inky haze—_"Mom? What happened to the stars?" "They are sleeping tonight, little one, but tomorrow they'll be back again."_

He is a meteor shooting toward the ground, a sword of light that must have robbed the galaxies leading his way. A twist of his wrists and the sword is now two, twin blades aimed at a set of shoulders. The head tips backward. He focuses on the solid lines of a square jaw and the red line along one cheek.

_A SOLDIER doesn't fear. Don't you get it Cloud? There just isn't time._

The opponent lifts his own blade of captured light, kissing the twin blades with a force that stops time. Rigid muscles keep him suspended in the space above, holding time captive until the moments spring free and fast-forward through a series of flips and jabs and swipes and dodges and parries.

He is an avalanche sliding across the ground, but he longs to fly and be graceful again, so next he is a bird taking flight. And next a drop of icy rain. And next a puddle rolling across the ground.

"Stop Cloud!"

He twists his body around to halt the momentum of his last flying attack and his feet hit hard pavement and he almost falls.

He is a man.

"Stop it now!"

His sword is held up to guard against his opponent, but the SOLDIER crouches low with his own weapon outstretched and does nothing more.

"Leave Sevi alone!"

The man called Cloud turns to regard a young boy. It takes a moment for the image of scruffy brown hair and bright blue eyes to penetrate the jumble of his thoughts, but when it does, there is a crystal of clarity and he shouts, "Denzel!"

Denzel steps forward. He has combat pants and boots on, a vest over his black turtleneck and a glowing sword in his hand. Glowing with the power of mako, just like Cloud's, just like the sword of the one called Sevi. Only it isn't just Denzel's sword that glows. His whole body shines with an eerie palor.

"Stop Cloud!" Denzel centers his sword in front of himself in a ready stance strangely similar to Cloud's. "Stop it now!"

Cloud looks back at the SOLDIER before him. He knows that if he can defeat this person named Sevi, he can save his son.

And so, he vows, he will never stop.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Back pressed against the far side of the van, Acadia listens to the symphony of voices weaving in and out of each other on the other side. She catches only wisps of what they are saying, the heavy metal of the van segregating her from them.

"It may seem an impossible task, but we must do it."

"Us against the SOLDIERs?"

"How are we supposed to win?"

"Can't—."

"Too strong—."

"Just kids—."

"Together—we have a plan—use tranquilizers—hide—ambush—shoot from the rooftops—."

"It's a good idea!"

"Do you think it will work?"

"Maybe—."

"Listen—time for heroes—back then—back then there was no one to save Sector Seven—must protect Midgar—."

"Together—fight—together…"

Acadia hears enough to understand not just their intent, but their emotions. Still, she doesn't feel them. So she waits through the sounds of the kids cheering, through the clanking of weapons being passed out, through another of Ren's elaborate speeches as she stares at the lack of contrast between her cobalt-black combat boots and the gray pavement.

Then there is a cacophony of footsteps dispersed like the sounds of children playing rather than ordered into the disciplined lines of an army formation. Then, the fading of noise to silence. Then, she is alone.

And finally, she moves, taking a deep breath of the caustic city air that reminds her of kicking cans around in the street with her neighbors when she was a kid. Only not quite, because now the air is so much cleaner than it was then. It is somehow less substantial and it always feels like she is about to suffocate.

Past the rows of patched-together houses Acadia runs, glancing at the families that are slowly pooling out into the street to glean any information they can from their neighbors about the "rumored battle" going on only blocks away. She wonders how they have no idea what is happening around them, how they live so sheltered and isolated. Hadn't they learned anything from the tragedies of the past? She's sworn never to be caught by surprise again.

And that's why she's not going to wait for the SOLDIERs to come to her. The timing of Denzel going missing is just too coincidental. He has to be linked somehow. She's going to find out for sure.

But there's something else she needs to find out. Something she won't allow herself to name.

It's not hard to find Sector Seven. She'd be able to find it from anywhere in Midgar without concentrating. Her feet bring her there almost subconsciously, and their pace doesn't slow until she hears the first sounds of a battle. It's an explosion maybe a block away.

Her breath quickens, and it surprises her. _Am I afraid?_ she scolds herself. But that isn't it. She's been fighting since the day she was born. This feeling is something different than simple fear.

It is anger. It is hate. It is resentment.

Beyond the corner of the next building, she will find SOLDIERs. That's the reason she feels the way she does. Teeth clenched, muscles tight, she pats the syringe in her pocket she slipped from the weapons stores in the truck. Then she pulls out two knives from sheaths hidden inside her combat boots. Not a single one of those SOLDIERs will touch her with their murderous, selfish hands. She'd rather face death.

Then she turns the very last corner to the battle—and freezes as she stands looking through a warped glass at the past.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Cloud isn't sure how long this can continue. They are wearing each other down, bit by bit, slice and bruise and fracture… His body is slowing, imperceptible to anyone else, blaringly obvious to him. It feels like he is moving through heavy clouds, his limbs held back and his mind somewhere far away. He's been repeating the words, "Don't stop," over and over in his mind and he goes through stages of remembering why and having moments of confusion where he feels he is in someone else's body.

The SOLDIER flips off the side of a building, sword aimed at Cloud's chest, and Cloud barely drops down, sliding under the swing of the blade. He grabs the SOLDIERs ankles as he tumbles above him. They both crash to the ground and it is a race to see who will be standing first.

The SOLDIER wins and is already attacking again when Cloud regains his footing. Cloud blocks with his sword, driven back to block again. He is on the defensive. This is the first step to losing a battle.

Once a battle turns like this, there is only one way to win. Do something extreme, make a sacrifice, take a gamble. Accept a small injury to incur a fatal one.

Only once does he glance at the boy standing off to the side, anger and fear mixed into the blue of those young eyes. The boy's desperate screams to stop fighting counter the voice in Cloud's head. The contradiction is puzzling, so he stops listening to the outside screams and lets his own mental voice rule him.

Then he crouches down and launches himself forward for a kamikaze-style attack.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

It is strange, but he isn't so different than Acadia remembers. Somehow she expected him to look foreign to her if they ever crossed paths. Perhaps that is because she was so sure he was dead, and the idea of death had mutated his image in her mind to project an old feeble man. But the SOLDIER fighting Cloud Strife so coldly, with such precise calculation and raw power, is far from feeble. The scar on his cheek is a little darker maybe, but his features are still immovably rock-hard, and his muscled arms still look like they can hold her as tight as they once did.

Once. So long ago. A lot has changed since then. Her mother and her sister are dead. Her home was destroyed.

And now it is just she and him. She has had dark and secret dreams of this moment, kept hidden away from even coherent thought—dreams shaped by impulses and emotion, not logic or thought or the laws of reality. But now they are here, in reality, and still she doesn't hesitate.

Cloud's stance changes. He pulls his sword back and the muscles in his back tighten, visible under his torn shirt. The ridges of sinew and flesh tell her that he is about to do something drastic. She catches the expression on his face. Serious. Determined. It is the face of a man about to put everything on the line. She knows that look.

There isn't much time. Cloud may end it in the next attack. Sevi is raising his sword to strike again, but from where he is he cannot see what Cloud is about to do. Or maybe he can and doesn't care. Sevi moves forward, swinging his sword. But instead of blocking, Cloud charges…

And Acadia is already in motion, throwing the knives in each of her hands when she is still ten meters away. The blades strike their targets, the bodies of the colliding men twisting at the last moment before impact. They stumble off-course like sheets of metal slammed by a gust of wind.

Sevi falls to his knees. By the time Acadia reaches him, a second knife is in her hand. There is a moment when she almost lunges toward him, but her limbs feel rusted and the moment is gone before she can act. So she stands there, knife held at his throat, but with a gap of time and space between them. He holds his bleeding arm, the fingers of his good hand splayed about the handle sticking out of his bicep. It seems forever before his eyes finally lift from the blood to face her, and when they do, she has no idea what emotion she is seeing in them.

Cloud pants behind her. It's an opportunity for escape, to look away from this man that makes her feel vulnerable and childish. Acadia glances at Cloud, who is also clutching his arm where her other knife is embedded. "Take care of Denzel," she says.

Then she turns back to the Sevi, using her gaze to cover his uniform in disdain. She's avoiding his eyes because she doesn't want to see the stranger in them, but even more, because she is afraid that she will find something familiar instead. "You know," she starts slowly, "My mother always told me to carry two knives. One for you and one for anyone trying to hurt you." Her voice is raspy and low, more raw than she expects. It makes her feel weak so she forces herself to look up at Sevi's face again. To notice new wrinkles and remember old ones. To find the person she once knew in this man's eyes. To hate that person freely.

Sevi smiles. The expression is sarcastic, but underneath it are other things. She won't name those things. She won't acknowledge those things. He speaks, and his voice is like a blunt sword. "Your mother _would_ say something like that. But she didn't teach you very good aim, did she? You've missed my heart."

"I got you exactly where I meant to. Your sword arm." Anger drives her. She grabs the knife sticking out of Sevi's arm, twisting it as she pulls a syringe from her pocket and stabs him with the needle in the chest. He gasps, blinks once, then slips to the floor, eyes closed before his body slams into the concrete.

A long, shaky breath slips through her lips, the words "Good night, father," underneath it. For the space of a heartbeat, she feels numb and weightless. Then she kneels beside the man her mother taught her to both hate and love.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

_Janna always had a way of looking at him like he was to blame for everything wrong in their world, and their world had a lot wrong with it. It was probably the close set of her eyes that were to blame. She always seemed like she was working so hard to focus on him, and that made her stare even more intense. _

_He shakes his head and throws up his hands. "You know, I didn't really expect you to understand."_

_His wife's response is scathingly sharp. "It's hard t' understand a man that don't make no sense. Did ya just have a fam'ly for kicks? Ya think we wouldn't mind? Maybe you figure a slum woman wouldn't mind a dirty thing like that? Huh?"_

_She's being completely unreasonable, and he wants to pull out his hair. He says, "I grew up here, same as you. Only difference is I actually plan to do something about it. I won't die here, Janna. I won't die on these dirty underworld floors covered in feces and rats. I won't die a nobody."_

_She laughs once, then turns her back on him to place her hands on the thin metal countertop. The tin pops as it dents under her weight. Staring at the chipped paint on the wall, she says, "That's fine, Sevi. You go bam-bam up there in someone else's world. I ain't gonna search for your dead self."_

"_I wouldn't ask you to."_

_Her fists are clenched when she spins back around. There is murder in her expression. _

"_But I ain't—I'm not—going to die," he adds firmly._

"_Look at ya, so ashamed of who ya are, ya can't even speak. Ya talk like sum upworlda uppy up. Don't ya look down on me, ya bastard. You born down here too. We the same, but at least I know who I am. You? Ha! You got ya head glued to the ass o' the upper plate."_

_He has to fight the urge to walk across the small kitchen and hit her. There are dirty plates left over from dinner on their small table and he thinks about how easy it would be to pick one up and---NO. He's better than that. He has to be. There's a world beyond the one he was born in, a world of opportunity. He doesn't have to be a poverty-ridden man from the Sector Seven slums. He can be someone else. He's not sure who yet, but he'll find out. In the army, he'll find out. "I'll send you money."_

"_So now ya gonna try an' pay us off, huh?" She plants her hands on her narrow hips and shifts her weight to one leg. She tosses her long black hair over her shoulder and lifts her chin. "Ya can't pay enough t' deserve us."_

"_Would you just open your dense head for one moment and listen to me!" His voice breaks through the calm veneer he had painted over it, rising in tone. "I ain't leavin' ya cuz I don't care!" The accent in his words stops him. It hurts to hear. Another chain to bind him to the lower plate. If he's going to survive topside, he has to play the part. It's the only way to be treated as a man and not as something else. More quietly, and very deliberately, he speaks again, "I'm leaving because I care."_

_She's laughing in uncontrollable waves. She holds her sides and bends over. "You so screwed up. Ya ain't been right in the head since you gone and got that scar."_

_He remembers walking to the upper plate for the first time, remembers the guards stopping him and asking what his business was. He told them some lie about visiting a dying relative and they gave him 12 hours before he had to return to the lower plate. After that, he would be a fugitive and he would be shot on site. Three blocks. That was as far as he made it. Three blocks and a gang of teenagers pulled him in between two buildings and carved an "S" on his cheek with a knife. S for slummer. S for scum. S for sub-human. "No," he says. "The day I got this scar was the day I finally became right in the head." He touches the raised skin on his cheek, the ridges sharp under his fingers._

"_That scar marks ya. Ya ain't gonna fool no one."_

_He drops his hand suddenly, and catches her eyes with an intense glare. "Then I'll make them see past it."_

"_An' whadda 'bout us? You got two daughters ya jus' gonna up and leave."_

"_I'll send money."_

_She clicks her tongue derisively._

"_One day Cadie and Annie will be able to look up at me and be proud. They'll forgive me then."_

"_An' me?" For the first time there is something other than anger in her eyes. The other emotion isn't any softer, but it is much more sincere._

_He speaks gently, with more tenderness than he's shown her in a year. "You're much more stubborn. More stubborn even than Cadie can be during her worst tantrum. You'll be much harder. But I'll always hope."_

_He left then. After he said goodbye to his two girls, he walked out of the lower plate slums into the sunset of the Sector Seven upworld. He would never return, and he would never see Janna and Annie again._

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Cloud pulls the long knife from his arm, blood flowing over his skin like water. Denzel. The girl told him to take care of Denzel. She is bent over the SOLDIER now. Cloud cocks his head toward the boy standing off to the side—so familiar… does he know him? He's forgotten again.

The boy is staring at him with wavering eyes, the light of the moon reflecting their sleek wetness. It reminds him of fireflies. Fireflies. This boy. He caught fireflies with this boy once. It was under a moon like this, the cool autumn air quiet except for his laughter and their footsteps against wild, uncut grass.

That was important. This boy is important. Cloud has lost the boy's name again; rigid titles and concrete words have become too much for his abstract, associative mind. But he can feel emotion. He can still feel emotion. And the emotion is like a purple flower growing beside the road that cannot be crushed.

The sword in the boy's hands is shaking like the light in his eyes as he holds in out in front of him, pointed at Cloud's chest. "Why?" he screams. The voice is a raw and open wound. Cloud touches his arm and winces. There is blood on his fingers, on his clothes, on the floor… he feels lightheaded. The boy continues: "If you're supposed to be such a hero, why didn't you save them? Why didn't you stop it?"

Who didn't he save? Cloud doesn't know. He looks over to the fallen body of his opponent and the girl bend over him.

"No!" the boy yells. "Not Sevi. _Them!_ I'm talking about _them_!" A strangled noise gurgles up through the boy's throat and he charges forward, the word "Why?" ringing through the air, absorbed by the sound of their swords meeting.

They are close, their swords crossed between them. Cloud can feel the hot breath of the boy, can see the sweat beaded on the boy's forehead that also drenches his shaggy hair. And then, suddenly, there is a name. "Denzel," he says, knowing it fits. But he is still missing so much and he is so confused. He knows they shouldn't be fighting. Why are they fighting? "Denzel… I don't know what I did wrong. I don't remember… I'm sorry."

Denzel jumps back, breaking the stalemate. "How can you not remember? How can you not remember how they all died?!" His shrieking terminates in the choked whisper of his last word.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you…" He holds up a hand in a gesture of peace.

"Stop it! Stop pretending like you care!"

Cloud blinks, confused. "I _do_ care."

Tears slip past the boundary of Denzel's eyelashes as he shakes his head, voice suddenly low and dangerously calm. "No. No you don't. You can't. You don't even know me. I'm a freak, Cloud, and you don't even know." He lifts his sword then, running the blade against his opposite palm, a line of red following the gray steel. When he's done, he holds up the wound and whispers, "Look."

Cloud looks. A greenish aura seems to engulf Denzel's hand and then the red is fading until the wound is completely gone.

Healed. He's completely healed. Instinctively, Cloud knows it's the mako. "You're not a freak." He tries to take a step forward, thinking of ways to disarm the boy before he does more damage to himself, but his sword arm is bathed in blood and his skin is beginning to prickle. Instead of stepping forward, he falls to one knee, muscles trembling.

He's losing himself.

"_That's the price of power. It's all a question of how far you'll go. So Cloud, how far will you go?"_

He has no regrets.

"Cloud? Cloud! Don't you dare! Don't you dare leave me too!"

Cloud watches the boy run toward him in slow motion. He drops his sword against the hard concrete as the boy does the same so he can fall against his chest. It's getting harder to piece together what's happening, sound and sights not quite synching together. But it doesn't really matter much, because there's a kind of peacefulness here. He imagines a ragged teddy bear—a childhood toy?—a gift for a friend?—maybe it wasn't a bear at all—as he holds the sobbing boy in his arms.

"Please don't go, Cloud."

"Okay."

"Why? I don't understand why." The boy's streaked face turns upwards, blue eyes almost violet. Violet. Like flowers by the roadside. Resilient. Strong. He picked one once, for someone he loves.

"I remember—everything they did—all the tests, the experiments—she told me I was special, my mom, she—." He chokes on his words and shivers instead of speaking.

Cloud looks up at the starlit sky, made hazy by the lights of Midgar. When he was a child, his mom showed him the stars and told him that each one represented a dream. _"Dream like the stars, Cloud. Always have more dreams than you can count."_ Yes. That's it. "Special," Cloud repeats, stroking Denzel's back with a trembling hand.

The boy tenses. "What does that mean? I wasn't special enough to keep them alive. What am I supposed to do? They're not coming back, and… what am I supposed to do?"

Cloud's mother is smiling at him through the tangles of his life. "Just live. Have more dreams than you can count." He's not sure who is speaking, him or his mother. The world spins. Like a top. A top he can't stop. Cloud smiles. What a funny rhyme.

"Cloud? Can you hear me, Cloud?"

Of course he can. He's not deaf.

"Answer me, Cloud!"

_Okay._

"Cloud? Please don't leave me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry Cloud. I wouldn't have really hurt you, I promise."

It's so hard to try to figure out the bright lights and the ambiguous words and the temperature of the air—all these details flooding in with nowhere to go. Too much. It's overwhelming and there's only one choice left. Everything is done now. Cloud smiles and uses his last audible words to say, "Let go."

There is a tingling enveloping him, electrifying him, but there is no pain. He feels as if he might be just a ray of light, zipping through the universe. Is he still a man? He can't find his fingers and toes. "Peak-a-boo," his memories say.

_But then he is wandering through the slums, and he's not sure how he got here but he knows he's walked this same path a million times before. There's the door of the dilapidated church, windows shattered and holes in the walls. It looks about to collapse, but he knows it won't. He fell through the ceiling once, and it didn't collapse then._

_A waning whimper stops him three steps from the door and he cocks his head to the sound. Again, it comes again. He follows it to the body of a small boy, propped up against a pile of debris at the church's side. The boy's mouth opens to cry again and big, blue, glazed eyes look up at him, lost and wandering._

_Cloud reaches out to him, but touches the flesh of a woman instead of a boy. Her touch warms him immediately, makes him feel full and whole. Tifa. They are standing outside a closed door—Marlene and Denzel's room, facing each other, his hand on her shoulder. "Shh…" he says. He glances conspiratorially toward the door. "They're arguing about something…"_

"_Cloud! I'm not going to listen in on them!"_

_He shifts his weight. The floor squeals. He freezes. "Why not?" he whispers finally, when the continued rhythm of Marlene and Denzel's voices assures him that they haven't heard him._

"_Because it's not right Cloud!" She raises a challenging eyebrow._

_He sighs, and rolls his eyes, muttering "Spoil-sport" before opening the door and leading the way into the room. "Okay kids, time for bed," he says as he steps inside, Tifa punching him playfully in the back as she follows._

"_Cloud? What will happen when you and Tifa get married?" The question is out of Marlene's mouth like an explosion. It's obvious this is what they were arguing about._

_Cloud glances at Tifa, trying to keep the expression on his face G-rated. Her eyes chide his silently for the things she must know he is thinking as she plays with the engagement ring on her finger. When she looks away blushing, he can't help but feel victorious._

"_Yeah, are you gonna be doing all that yucky kissing stuff all the time?" Denzel is saying._

"_They already do that Denzel! Besides, I think it's sweet. Right, Tifa?"_

_Amusement plays at the corners of Tifa's mouth. "Yes Marlene, it's very sweet." Her eyes touch Cloud's again and he feels his heart jump. He smiles too._

"_I guess we'll finally be a real family," Cloud says. "Well, sorta… Barrett's still your dad."_

_Marlene scrunches her nose. "Then what are we now if we're not a family yet?"_

"_That's a good point, Marlene. We're a family now too. Cloud and I will just be… closer… so we can take care of the two of you better."_

_Marlene giggles. "You know what that means, right Denzel?" She slides her mischievous gaze toward the boy._

_He blinks, as if woken from a dream. "Huh? …sorry…"_

"_Denzel!" she admonishes._

_He looks suddenly at Cloud and Tifa. "Hey… that means we'll be together forever, right? You won't leave…"_

_For Cloud, it's as if the atmosphere in the room has suddenly doubled in density. That fear he sees in Denzel's expression, hears in his words… he's felt it before. When Zack left. When Aeris left. "No Denzel, we're not going to leave." What else can he really say? He would protect this boy with his life. He glances around the room. He would protect any one of them with his life._

"_How far will you go, Cloud?"_

"_What?" Cloud blinks and suddenly he's not at the Seventh Heaven with Tifa and the kids. He's in a grassy field, the sky dark with the wearing out of the day and a gentle wind throwing strands of hair across his eyes. In front of him, Zack is standing with his hands on his hips, head tilted back to look at the cloud-embellished sky, eyes squinted like he's trying to see something far away. _

"_There was this riddle she told me once at sunset." He starts slowly, and Cloud isn't sure if Zack is talking to him or the first stars that are barely visible above. "How did it go… I'm thinking of something that everyone is born with but not everyone gets to keep. Some people have more than one and some people make new ones but it can't be made alone. And those that realize its value will protect it to the death… Yeah, that was it." He pauses, and with flat tones finally says, "She died the next day."_

_Cloud tries to wait for what he thinks must be the appropriate, respectful time in a situation like this before asking, "What's the answer?"_

"_I haven't a clue."_

_But as the sky and the grass and even Zack fade to black, and as he feels his own body floating away—far beyond even where the stars dare to venture—it comes to him. The answer to the riddle._

_He says it to the nothingness with lips he isn't sure he still possesses and feels a sort of satisfaction with things. _

"_The answer is family."_

_Then Cloud Strife ceases to exist._

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: Okay, so it's been like five billion years since I posted a chapter for this story. You all have every right to be very, very annoyed with me. Life just got really busy for a while.

Anyway, I'm back to working on this. We're really only about three chapters from the finish. There's one more action bit left in the next chapter though, so stay tuned. It isn't over yet!

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed in the past and thanks for continuing to read. I truly appreciate any feedback.

Also thanks to the Genesis Awards for short-listing this story in the Action category. Whether this story wins or not, it's still an honor.

Until next time, happy reading all!


	15. Self Discovery

**A/N: Because it's in the most extreme tests that we learn who we are…**

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

**Chapter 15 – Self-Discovery**

"You're just going to sit there and cry now, aren't you?"

Denzel doesn't look up at Acadia. Instead he scowls down at Cloud's limp body, tasting salt on his lips. Two of his fingers are pressed against Cloud's neck, in the slope beside his windpipe, feeling the gentle, slow rhythm of the blood pulsing through the veins beneath. He's desperate between every beat, afraid the next won't come. What would he do? What would he do if Cloud's heart simply slowed to a stop? The thought is paralyzing.

"Hello? Are you even alive in there?" Acadia stands now, leaving the similarly inanimate body of her father. She comes up next to Denzel, gripping his shoulder hard enough that it hurts. He doesn't react to the pain, but looks up blankly. Distantly, he thinks she looks half-animal, dirt and tears streaking her face, eyes glaring intensely, lips contorted in disgust.

"Are you just going to sit there and cry?" she repeats. Her fingers dig into his shoulder blade.

Finally he winces, feeling the sharp bite of her nails. "_You're_ crying," he whispers hoarsely, as if that should account for everything.

"But I'm not going to just sit here. I'm not a coward." She glances over at the limp body of her father. Then repeats more forcefully, "I'm not a coward."

The determination he sees in her face reminds him of something, and Denzel tries to weed through the shock in his brain to figure out what it is. Where has he seen that expression before? He remembers. It was the time he saw Cloud fight Kadaj and his gang to free himself and Marlene. He's never properly reacted to that memory. When it happened, he'd been in a trance, but now, as he looks back on that memory he understands the significance. The most important thing to Cloud in that moment was saving Denzel and Marlene. "What will you do?" Denzel asks.

Acadia lets go of his arm and walks back to Sevi. "I'll fight," she says, searching Sevi's pockets for weapons and his limbs for hidden holsters.

It takes Denzel a few blinks to process her meaning, half his mind still focused on monitoring Cloud's pulse, as if his own life were tied to the fulfillment of every awaited heart beat. "But they'll kill you," he says, shaking his head. "These are real SOLDIERS, and there are too many of them."

"I just took down two of your so-called real SOLDIERS," she says, nonchalantly, strapping a knife she'd found on Sevi to her leg.

"Only because you caught them by surprise."

"Then I'll catch the others by surprise too."

"No," he's shaking his head adamantly now.

Straightening with her back turned to him, Acadia replies, "Not all of us can be cry babies, Denzel. Maybe if there were a few less cowards in this city someone would have stopped ShinRa before they blew up our home." She looks over her shoulder then, first at Denzel, then glances pointedly at Cloud's relaxed face.

Denzel gets her meaning, and there is a sudden burst of emotion deep in his chest. "Take that back!"

She laughs.

"Cloud is a hero!" he yells. He doesn't know why he feels it is so urgent to make this point.

"Weren't you just holding a sword to him?" she tilts her head, hands on her hips. "Guess that makes you the villain then."

Everything inside of him feels so confused. So many memories and thoughts jumbled together. Who is he? Is he special like his mother once told him? Is he a coward? Is he a villain? Is he just a boy? And then other questions, questions of the past. Who is really responsible for the death of his parents? Is it Cloud? Was it ShinRa? With Sevi's voice in his head silenced, everything seems so much less clear.

"Why aren't they stopping to attack us?" Acadia's voice cuts through his reverie.

She is staring somewhere over his shoulder, but he doesn't need to turn to look at the lines of SOLDIERs walking past. He knows they're there. "They have a mission."

"A mission? How do you know?" Her eyes narrow suddenly. "Who's side are you on?"

He shrugs. "They want to take over ShinRa, to turn things back to the way they used to be. They remember being happy then, having a purpose. They miss that." He focuses on the flow of the Lifestream behind him. He can feel them, each of them, like a dent in the Lifestream itself. Strange, it was Sevi who taught him he could do this.

"Poor babies," she says sarcastically. Then she's walking away, and he knows he can't let her go alone. Cloud wouldn't have let her go alone. Leaning down, he touches his shaking fingers to Cloud's chest, just above his heart. "Don't die while I'm gone. I'll never forgive you if you die while I'm gone."

Then he thinks how reversed their roles suddenly are. How it's his turn to be the strong one.

As he stands to go, he sees Cloud's sword on the blood-smeared pavement, and before he even considers what he is doing he has the weapon in his hands. The weight is comfortable, easy to maneuver with all the mako in his veins. He swings it once, feeling its power, whispers a "thank you" to Cloud as he looks back one last time, and takes off after Acadia.

"Wait!" He says the word like a command and not a request.

She's smirking when he catches up to her, to stand next to where she has stopped, watching the SOLDIERs walk by, oblivious to their presence. "Little baby wants to play grown-up?"

He snorts derisively. "Who's playing? I just don't want you to get yourself killed."

"Is that what your daddy's sword is for?"

His impulse is to utter something defensive, but the words catch in his throat. He is left with only the sound of his boots scraping the pavement as he shifts his weight.

"You look like a SOLDIER."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment."

He reaches up to adjust the sword in his back holster, running his fingers over the worn hilt. "I don't care."

He feels her looking at him but doesn't meet her eyes. She says, "So Bigshot, what do we do?"

"Don't you have a plan?"

"Nope." She acts as if it is no cause for concern.

His sigh mixes with the sound of an army moving past. There are at least fifty of them, not a huge force if they were normal men, but they aren't normal men. Wiping a hand against his drying eyes, he says, "I don't know whose side I'm on, you know. But it doesn't matter anyway. We just have to stop this. Maybe… maybe everyone made mistakes, maybe everyone was wrong… But I have to hope." He turns his head toward her, so she can see the intensity in his eyes at this last part. For some reason, he feels he has to convince her. He'd forgotten it himself for a while, but now it's coming back to him, a sense of purpose. And he realizes that it was the members of Avalanche, Cloud and Tifa, that taught him it.

Lips formed in a frown, and expression confused, she says, "Hope for what?" And there isn't the usual sarcasm or derision in her tone. She seems genuinely curious.

"Hope that we can be better."

Her response is quiet, subdued. "Build a better future. It's what Ren is always going on about."

"Maybe he's right." Denzel squints. The air is growing thick with dust from all the commotion, enhanced by the darkness of the night.

Acadia blows a quick breath through her teeth. "Let's worry about building a better today first, Sunglasses boy. If you don't have a plan in the next thirty seconds, I'm going on my own."

Denzel growls under his breath and wonders if all women are this difficult, as he rushes to think of something, glancing back at Cloud and silently asking the motionless hero what to do.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

When Tseng was a boy, he was obsessed with adventure more than most children of his age. He loved riding his motorbike through the trails in the woods cut out with a rusty old sword he and his friends had found. He'd always been the best of all of them, daring jumps over rocky slopes that everyone else feared. He rode on the edge of the Lifestream, cutting the smell or wild grass and moist dirt with the smell of burnt rubber from his tires.

He was envied then. Every week he dared a new stunt, and it became tradition for the other kids in the small village to gather and cheer him as he jumped a small canyon or navigated a slick precipice. The voices of encouragement inviting him forward meant something him, but they weren't the reason he did what he did.

It was the rush through his veins during that moment when time stood still and he knelt at the gates of death, turning to walk away again before he could be sucked in. And he felt empowered, strong, invincible. Every time he'd get a little closer to death's gate and pull a stunt that was even more daring.

Until one day when he went too far. It was cold, winter just settling its frost over the world. Slick ground slid over wet tires like silk over skin, instead of launching him over the ravine he was jumping, it launched him into it. It was a long way down.

When he woke up in the hospital a month later, they told him he was lucky to be alive. Twelve broken bones, several torn ligaments, a concussion, and a gash where a rock had pierced his forehead. The gash healed and the scar began to fade, but he had a tattoo put there so he would always remember how death had left its mark. He had cheated it again.

Tseng isn't sure why he thinks of all this now, as he stumbles backwards to the ground, staring up at his opponent. The SOLDIER's face is bruised, one eye swollen shut, but the good eye glows brilliant blue. Even though it is clear the SOLDIER has won, there isn't a smile on his face. "You'll die now."

Tseng coughs as he tries to chuckle. He wipes blood from his lips. "Yes."

The army of SOLDIERs has filled in around them, forming a circle, keeping a respectful distance away. Are they curious to understand a fight without weapons? It is something they need to see before they continue their advance on ShinRa?

The SOLDIER is standing over him now. "Did it work? Do you feel like a man?"

Again, Tseng chokes out a laugh. He smiles, something that's never been his custom to do much of. He nods. "I think so." Reaching into his pocket with stiff and swollen fingers, he pulls out his ShinRa ID badge and places it on the ground next to him. It has been his identity for so long. For so long he has been a hired man and a slave to mako. Next to the badge he places his pouch of empty mako syringes. "I will die without these, please."

The SOLDIER says nothing more, but seems about to deliver the final blow. And then, there is a yell, high-pitched and desperate. "TSEEEENG!"

He looks up toward the roof of the building beside him and can barely make out Elena leaning over its edge through his blurry vision. In the next moments he hears the popping of weapons fire, and around him the SOLDIERS are falling. It's surreal, like a dream, the SOLDIERS falling like dolls, marionettes with their strings released. He crawls toward his attacker, now lying on the ground with a dart of some sort sticking out of his side. The rise and fall of the SOLDIER's chest tells him he isn't dead. Poison? Sedative? Tseng isn't sure. How long will the effect last?

There is a soft thump as Elena lands neatly to the ground beside him, holding a gun in one hand and using the other arm to try to lift him to his feet. Her blond hair covers her face, but her voice is urgent. "Time to go, Tseng!" Were her voice not so familiar to him, he'd have trouble hearing her through the yells of the battle.

Slipping a hand under his shoulder, Elena fights to support him. "Have to get to the roof."

Several SOLDIERs are climbing the sides of the buildings, trying to reach their attackers above. "Won't be a very safe place soon," Tseng manages with his fight-roughened voice.

"Better than here." Elena shoots at something out of Tseng's field of vision.

"No, stick to the shadows."

Elena nods. "Yessir. Can you run?"

"Give me a gun." Her life is now tied up with his. He knows she can't survive this alone. The metal hilt of a gun, warmed by the heat of her body against its holster, is pressed into his hand. He takes a breath, fights to stand, and cocks the weapon at a SOLDIER obviously coming toward them in the chaos. He fires. The SOLDIER stumbles, holding his knee.

"Let's go, Elena." He barely glances at his discarded ShinRa badge and empty mako shots as they back away, and thinks, _I will live without these, please._

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

"You have a phone call."

The deep voice startles Denzel about halfway through his thirty-second time limit for developing a plan to save the world. He spins around to see the large black-suited figure in sunglasses, his bald head and strong features making him easily identifiable. Denzel places the face into the group of Turks he remembers from Tifa's bar.

"Who the hell are you?" Acadia sneers. "Oh, and, hate to break it to you, but there's no sun out."

"Rude," Denzel says.

"Maybe. But don't defend him just because he's a freak who wears sunglasses at night like you do."

"No," Denzel shakes his head, giving Acadia an impatient look. He remembers that he'd lost his own pair of sunglasses while with the SOLDIERs. He'd missed them then, feeling exposed. He's surprised to realize he doesn't mind now, that he doesn't need them anymore. His eyes turn defiant, "That's his name," Denzel explains.

Rude takes a step closer, glancing briefly down at the bodies of Cloud and Sevi, but saying only, "I'm a T—"

"No!" Denzel interrupts. Rude jumps at the sudden yell, eyebrows rising above the sunglasses. Denzel continues, "Sorry, it's just better for your health if you don't tell her that." He tilts his head to the side to indicate Acadia.

"Tell me what?" she growls.

Rude clears his throat, looking a little uncomfortable. "I have a call for Denzel." He holds out a cellphone, waiting for Denzel to take it.

Denzel eyes him suspiciously. "Who is it?"

Rude turns his head toward Acadia and then back to Denzel. "Maybe it's better if he tells you himself." Out in the main street there is the crash of something exploding, followed by the pop of gunshots. It sets Denzel's heart beating, releasing a new rush of adrenaline, and he is suddenly eager to fight. All the confusion of before, all the mixed-emotions, are channeled into the need to do something now.

He hesitates for just a moment, then comes forward and takes the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello Denzel. This is Rufus ShinRa."

A glacier seems to crawl over Denzel's skin, freezing him from the outside in. There is a panicked flutter inside. He isn't sure how to react to this.

"Denzel?"

He can't imagine the face behind the voice, like it is meant to be disembodied, like the narrator of a film. There is no sign of fear or worry in the voice, even though an army of SOLDIERs are out to kill the man it belongs to, as if Rufus is securely holding the strings of destiny in his hands. A timid, "Yes?" is all Denzel manages, and he is embarrassed and disgusted with himself for it. Why does he suddenly feel like a child in the middle of a thunder storm?

"Do you remember me?"

Denzel grips the phone tightly, because he is afraid he'll drop it if he doesn't. "I remember your father, and how he gave the order to destroy Sector Seven."

"I'm not my father." The voice says it sternly, with conviction, like it is making a point of paramount importance. "I knew you personally though. Think Denzel, remember the hospitals, the ShinRa doctors, I'm there among them…"

_Green, green, all he saw was green. A green haze all around him, alone in the room. Faces in the window pressed against the glass, looking in on him, warped and made grotesque by the mist that was everywhere… Green, green, crawling into his skin, tickling and suffocating his lungs so he couldn't even scream…_

"You were there?"

"You were my project. Should I tell you what you are?"

_You're special, Denzel. My special boy._

"Yes." The dust in the air feels like sandpaper against his eyes.

"You were meant to be some sort of super-SOLDIER. The next generation, if you will. The idea was brilliant really. With mako, you're limited by how much the body can handle. Jenova cells were our first solution to the problem; they seemed to strengthen the body against mako poisoning. We didn't realize at first that it was because Jenova was actually taking over the mind. Then we thought, what if we could cut the mako out of the chain all together? What if we could create something that could draw power directly from the Lifestream itself? There were many failed attempts before you, Denzel."

His mind is scrambling to put together pieces of his life that never had a place before. All the sickness of his childhood that seemed to simply disappear after the Sector Seven collapse… at the time he'd been too distracted by the loss of his family and his home to notice. "Me?"

"Yes, Denzel. You're special. You survived."

"But, why me? Why would my parents...?"

"We told them you were sick, that you would die if we didn't treat you. They were loyal ShinRa employees, so they listened."

"I _was_ sick."

"Very. That was from the mako. But they started to suspect, even after your father's promotion. Your mother wanted to end the treatments. We sealed up the power inside of you the best we could, so that you would appear normal. But your mako injections have triggered the release."

"The release of what?"

"The release of your full potential, but potential like that needs direction. I can help you. The SOLDIERs will destroy Midgar in their madness, and I'm trying to protect the city too. The past is a different world, but we can save this new world. Join me."

"Join you?"

"Work for ShinRa Corp. and I'll show you how to stop this."

That's when Denzel hears the roar of the helicopter above, like an angry dragon, lighting up the sky with its fiery breath. 'ShinRa Corp.' is printed in large, bold, white letters on the side of the black body.

"Who is that?" Acadia yells. She points at the sky with one hand, shielding her eyes from the bright search lights with the other. The man inside is invisible behind tinted windows.

"It's up to you Denzel. What will you do?" Rufus' voice asks.

Denzel glares up at the helicopter, desperate to catch a glimpse of the man inside, but it is impossible from here. He needs to see him, to look Rufus in the eyes, to see the man who apparently had so much control over his life. No more listening to disembodied voices. How many times has he been controlled in his life? ShinRa. Ren. Sevi. All trying to manipulate him towards a purpose, all claiming to want a better world. "How powerful am I? Am I stronger than Cloud?"

A chuckle jitters through the static of the mobile connection. "Your potential is far beyond Cloud. Is it power you want? Let me finish the work I started with you and you will be as powerful as you can imagine."

Thinking back, Denzel remembers all the superhuman things he's seen Cloud do, the time Cloud fought off a monster when they were out in the wastelands sparring, the way he seemed to fly up onto the cliffs after it. Denzel tilts back his head, tracing the edges of the buildings up to the sky. The helicopter is closer to his side of the block, not far above the roof of the building, close enough that Denzel can feel the wind of the propellers pelting his skin. "And I can draw power directly from the Lifestream?"

"Yes, I'll show you how."

_The Lifestream is all around us._ What is he really capable of? Sevi had shown him how to use a Mako high to feel the others, but he isn't high and he can still feel the SOLDIERs around them, each one like a bright spot in an invisible, intangible fabric. Is that the Lifestream? Only one way to find out. _Can't be a coward anymore,_ he tells himself. "I'm coming, Rufus."

Tossing the phone at an unprepared Rude, Denzel turns toward the nearest building, gathers the strength in his muscles, and springs up to a window ledge two stories up. A strange power seems to fill him, and when he jumps again he doesn't bother with another window but springs the remaining three stories to the top. The helicopter is farther than he thought, but he doesn't let himself hesitate, keeping the momentum and flying upwards. It isn't until the last moment, when he considers what will happen if he misses the helicopter completely, that he lets out a quick yelp and flails his arms into the landing bar on the side of the helicopter's belly. He closes his eyes for a moment, curses himself for being completely insane, and then realizes what he's just done. It had been effortless. A laugh fills the space where terror had been.

Above him, the door pops open. It's ominous, the man behind it still hidden, but Denzel climbs up the side of the helicopter and drags himself through, panting with adrenaline. He doesn't know what he expects to see, what the son of a mass murderer should look like up close. He knows he doesn't expect to see the respectable expensive polished shoes contrasting with dull metal as he drags himself onto the helicopter floor. Following the shoes to the lines of Rufus' suit as he climbs to his feet, Denzel's gaze finally meets with the man's face. The features are chiseled, like the hard eyes and set jaw were hewn from stone. Hands on the controls, Rufus leans back slightly and turns toward him. Denzel has the strange sensation that he is a lab experiment under a microscope as Rufus gives a humorless smile and says, "Glad you found your way."

"I—I wanted to look you in the eyes." Denzel hears the doubt in his voice and follows quickly with, "Let's settle this face to face," to cover it up. He tries to look confident, assuming the wide stance he's seen Cloud use so often.

Tilting his head toward the front window, Rufus says, "Do you see them down there?"

Below, illuminated by the bright lights of the helicopter, Denzel sees the children from Holding Hands International, people he spent two weeks with under Ren and Elena's direction, standing along the roofs of the buildings, weapons aimed down at the streets below. But the frightening thing is that the SOLDIERs are climbing the walls of the buildings, and that they are gaining ground faster than Ren's child army can stop them.

"It seems Ren is using tranquilizers of some sort, but they don't seem to be lasting. Several SOLDIERs that were knocked down and paralyzed have gotten up again, even in the few minutes I've been watching. SOLDIERs are resilient to that sort of thing. He'll have to use something stronger if he wants to win, something more damaging."

A pause hangs in the air for a moment before Rufus continues with: "But you can stop this Denzel."

Warily, Denzel shifts his gaze back to Rufus. "How?"

"I said you had the potential for great power. I'll show you if you agree to work for me."

"I'm not working for you!"

Rufus looks annoyed. "Your parents did. You are ShinRa property anyway. We made you what you are. I won't let another ShinRa tower fall, so either you decide to be the hero, or I'll be."

"What do you mean?"

That's when Rufus reaches down somewhere beside him and lifts a mass of wires and metal above his head. He doesn't look at Denzel, but out the front window, shadows masking his face in darkness as he says, "Bomb."

The metal of the buster sword shrieks against the animal skin holster on Denzel's back as he pulls it out and holds the weapon in front of him. The weight in his hands quickens his pulse. "I won't let you do that."

Rufus raises an aristocratic eyebrow. "Then welcome to ShinRa Corp."

"I'm not joining you!"

Rufus smiles. "Denzel, you don't understand. Either you join me now and I show you how to stop this peacefully, or I drop this bomb and kill everyone down there, including your guardians. You'll be left without a family, and you'll come to me eventually anyway."

"No!" Denzel shakes his head adamantly.

"How unoriginal. I'm out of patience. You have 10 seconds before I drop this bomb."

Is he bluffing? His Turks are down there too. Would he kill his own employees? A cold sweat clinging to his skin, Denzel tries to push down the nerves clouding his mind and thinks, _I can't let them die. _A deal with the devil, that's what this would be. He won't work for Rufus… maybe his parents didn't know, maybe they were blind to the evil ShinRa Corp. could do… Something Rufus had said earlier… _But they started to suspect, even after your father's promotion. Your mother wanted to end the treatments. _

"I need to ask you something."

"Eight seconds," is all Rufus responds.

"You said my parents started to suspect what you were doing to me… That means they didn't know. But they were ShinRa employees. How come you didn't save them from Sector Seven?" He feels a dam of emotion buckling deep in his chest.

Rufus' expression remains passive and unfeeling. "Five seconds."

"Is that how ShinRa Corp. treats it employees?"

"Four seconds."

The dam breaks. "Why won't you answer me!?!" Denzel steps forward, sword steady despite the tingling of every nerve in his body.

Still no reaction. "Three seconds."

"Answer me you madman!!!" His voice breaks, like water crashing against unpolished stone.

"No time for childish antics. Grow up boy. The word isn't a nice place." Leaning over, Rufus opens the door on his side of the helicopter. Wind rushes through the opening, filling the cockpit with cool air and the smell of smoke from the fires below.

"Don't!" Denzel takes another step forward.

Rufus presses a button on the bomb's face. It beeps once. He looks at Denzel and says, "The world needs men who will act. You might think us cruel, but we do what everyone else is afraid to. Time up." Then Rufus throws the bomb out the door.

Denzel doesn't think, he only moves. It feels as if he is a bolt of lightning; his feet barely seem to touch the ground as he throws himself out the door after that bomb. He's riding the Lifeforce again, just like he did when he jumped up the side of the building to the helicopter. It's as natural as breathing. Then he's out in the open air, catapulting his body downward, and he's only feet below the helicopter's bottom when he reaches the bomb. It seems to hang in the air in front of him, a glint of metal and a web of wires—and then his sword is slicing through the metal and the wires, letting the explosion spill out of the opening, engulfing him in angry red flames. But though he feels the heat, it's like feeling it through a layer of insulation. The explosion rides upward, ripping into the side of the helicopter, and he watches as he falls downward, finally flipping himself over to plant his feet on the ground that seems to rise to meet him. It's then, as metal shards of debris fall like glitter around him, that he realizes what he's done. The helicopter is spinning wildly toward the ground and Rufus jumps out only moments before it crashes into the side of a building, another explosion lighting the sky.

"My… how did you? Tseng! Rufus—he--!"

Denzel turns toward the voice behind him, because it seems to be the easiest thing to focus on in the cacophony of images and sounds that surround him. Elena is standing there on the sidewalk, Tseng beside her with one arm draped over her shoulder. He's wounded, purple bruises spilling red blood down his cheek. They both look shocked, and they are staring at Denzel, as if he could explain.

"I… I… don't know…" he offers helplessly. His five senses feel draped in haze, yet he feels alive in a way he doesn't remember feeling before, as if he is halfway in another dimension of living, suddenly aware that the people around him each glow with their own sort of energy. _The Lifestream…_ And it's familiar. Has he felt this before? When he was a child? Where are the memories of those experiments ShinRa performed? He wishes he had them now.

"Can you stop them?" Tseng asks.

Denzel stares at the Turk leader blankly. "Who?"

"THE SOLDIERS!" Tseng and Elena both yell in unison.

Denzel blinks, feeling a bit silly. "Oh." He turns his back to them, realizing then that several SOLDIERs are closing in. He must have landed in the middle of a fight between them and the Turks. But he sees more than the SOLDIERs' bodies, he sees the flow of the Lifestream through them, the energy that drives them, enhanced by mako. All of a sudden it makes sense. Mako facilitates the flow of the Lifestream, allowing a person to draw more of its energy… then… if he… "I can stop them!" he shouts, elated at this revelation. But he doesn't hear Tseng or Elena's response because he has pushed their world even farther away. All he feels now is the flow of the Lifestream, like currents of wind or a river. He follows it to the nearest SOLDIER, closing the path that the Lifestream takes, limiting its flow, diverting it, but not blocking it completely. Then he moves on to the next SOLDIER, and the next… following the currents of the Lifestream until there are no more SOLDIERs to touch… and then…

And then… what?

He feels identity-less here. Who is he? There's a sense of peace here in the Lifestream that allows him to consider this, and he thinks, maybe he'll just stay here a while until he figures it out. The material world seems so far away, and he is only dimly aware of distant voices and a hand on his shoulder. Then a memory floats to the surface of his mind—Marlene, her cheeks rosy with laughter and her smile wide. She leans over and whispers in his ear. _Don't forget us Denzel._ That's what she told him the morning he left for Holding Hands International. He hasn't, he hasn't forgotten them. They're his family. And he knows who he is.

He is Denzel Strife. Maybe he used to be someone else, but that's who he is now.

Time to return home.

_End Part 15_

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

A/N: Well, I'm finally back. Sorry for the loooong delay. I actually moved to Ireland for a while and then back to the States. It's a beautiful country and I highly recommend visiting. Anyway, I'm back and writing again. I had to reread this story and all my old notes to try to get back into it. Hopefully, I succeeded. Thanks everyone for reading and any comment/criticism is welcome. Cheers!


	16. A Reason to Be

_**A/N: Because we have to understand why before we can ask who…**_

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

**Chapter 16 – A Reason to Be**

"Over here… another one…"

"This one's stable, move to the next…"

"They're all just… sleeping… all of them…"

"Hurry!"

The voices blend, bouncing and echoing between the buildings—paramedics and civilians, good Samaritans and people just looking for a show, those that fought and those that are here for the aftermath.

Elena coughs, wiping her mouth with a dirty sleeve, air grimy with smoke and debris. The battle is over, but there is no calm to greet them. Battles never leave calm. They leave destruction. They leave people crying out for help. They leave others crying for those lost. They leave the sickening black-tar feeling of something that can never be returned.

Kneeling over the body of the man that has directed most of her adult existence, Elena holds her fingers to the side of his neck and feels the pulsing beat of his life. It is erratic, frenzied and unsteady, but not weak—even on the precipice of death, Rufus ShinRa will not abide appearing weak. She searches the lines of his face for any sign that he'll wake up, but all she sees is strained tension, like even in unconsciousness he is still agitatedly aware that things are horribly out of his control.

_How did we get here?_ she thinks. The flickering fire-cast light from the smoldering remnants of the helicopter form distinct blacks and whites, lights and darks, where there should be none. Nothing inside of her feels so sharply defined. And as she looks up at Tseng, kneeling across from her and checking Rufus for injuries with nimble hands, she wonders if they are good guys or bad guys. She's never asked and she's never known. And despite all the new questions assaulting her already over-burdened emotions, she is also struck by an eerie sense of déjà vu because they've been here before, just like this. The Turks, together, with Rufus as their focal point. Where would they all be without ShinRa Corp?

Lines of blood trace webs on Tseng's forehead and cheeks—thankfully only surface wounds. Still focused on Rufus, he says, "Both legs broken, three ribs, and a lot of bruising. Pulse steady, breathing even, can't tell what else."

Beside her, Reno takes in a sharp breath, "Boss took quite a fall, yo." He's barely standing, leaning against Rude for support. Blood soaks his shirt, a long gash peaking through the tatters of the fabric. Elena is amazed he's still on his feet at all.

"Emergency medical said it would be a ten minute wait," she says. She glances over her shoulder at the frenzy of activity in the street behind them. There were several doctors here from the closest medical facility, but some of Ren's kids had been hurt and they took priority.

"We can…" Reno fixes an intense gaze on Tseng. He doesn't need to finish his sentence. Her mind whispers the words that remain. Even in her head, they sound taboo. _Mako. Life's blood._

"No." Tseng looks up with stoic conviction shading his slightly-dulled blue eyes.

A little breathless, Reno forces his voice through clenched teeth, "It'll help. All of us need it." Elena knows he's lost a lot of blood, and she thinks his condition may actually be more urgent than Rufus'.

"No. It won't help." Tseng stands with some difficulty, swiping his thighs with his hands to whip away the dust. He looks the same when he's done, the stains soiled into his clothes.

"What the hell, it won't help? Case you hadn't noticed, some of us 're dyin' here." He chokes on the last words, gasping a little.

Something in Reno's voice… he is always dramatic, but never needy. What she hears now is a new kind of desperation… She swallows with tight muscles.

"I don't have any anyway."

A strangled laugh comes out more like a whimper. "You're a sick bastard. You always carry mako."

"He really doesn't have it," Elena whispers, remembering the abandoned vials on the ground as they tried to escape the onslaught of ShinRa war machines.

Tseng elaborates: "I threw it away. I'm going clean." He holds his hands out, palms up. Even streaked with dirt as they are, they seem to glow with pale emptiness.

This time, it's Rude who speaks, "Can you do that?"

"I… don't know. But I have to try."

She's never seen Tseng's expression more open, more unguarded and imploring. He's asking them to understand, laying it all out there for them. And there are tears in Elena's eyes for reasons she can't articulate. Before her, she sees all the years of watching him use, transformed into a stranger by his mako high, track marks spotting his arms. She hears the pitiful "I love you's" spoken by a creature she couldn't respect—something less than a man in those moments. Yet here he is now, and she thinks 'bravery' as she gazes at him.

But despite her hate for the habit, she is scared too. Who is he without it? Who is she without it? Who are any of them? "Are you really sure?" she says, and her voice sounds like that of a little girl seeking a parent's assurances that everything will be okay.

Tseng turns to her. The smile he gives her is uncharacteristically timid and sincere. "Yeah."

The tears are on her cheeks.

"Oh, precious, f'ing precious. You gonna cry at my funeral 'Lena?"

Elena inhales sharply, wiping her cheeks and straightening her shoulders. "No," she says firmly. The absoluteness of the word invigorates her with strength. "I won't."

Who are they without mako? She doesn't know, but they can't be worse. Standing, she turns to face Reno. The wild eyes of a starving animal claw at her. The same eyes have stared back at her in too many faces… Too many nights in Life's Blood Alley, too many night's in Tseng's bedroom… Who are they without mako? She doesn't know, but she knows who they are with it, and it isn't worth living that way anymore.

Things have to be better. She has to believe they can be better. Shaking her head at Reno, hoping he can understand the emotion she feels through the expression in her eyes, she says, "I won't let you die. I'll get a medic. I'll get one if I have to tie him up and drag him here, but I won't let you die!"

Does he understand? It doesn't matter. She's already off and running toward the closest medical team, hand on the hilt of her gun in case she has to be persuasive. Who are they without mako? They are the Turks. Even if Rufus dies, that will always be true.

They are her family.

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

"Can you wake him?" Ren bends over Jenkins' shoulder, staring at the unconscious face of Denzel Strife. One of Ren's hands clutches his knee, squeezing at the base of the patella where he knows it will hurt—an outlet for the guilt that would inhibit his judgment otherwise. "What are his injuries? Permanent damage?" Forcibly, Ren stops the questions he wants to ask, the endless queries for reassurances that he feels driven toward.

Denzel's cheeks are streaked with soot, painting the slack, youthful features with a tragic air, and the clothes are ripped in spots where one would expect to see wounds beneath—but there is no blood. With all the injuries around them, Denzel is eerily unscathed. He looks more like a homeless child who has been wandering the streets than a battle survivor.

"Anybody ever told you you're a bit of a nervous sort?" Jenkins responds, sounding annoyed. "Course I can wake him up, but it might mess with his brain a little."

"I appreciate your exact and scientific descriptions."

"Look, there ain't no guarantee with this stuff, ya know? The kid is knee deep in the Lifestream right now. Has to be if he was able to put all those SOLDIERs asleep. There's no telling what it'll do to him to rip him away from that. You got all the SOLDIERs sedated, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"Cuz whatever voodoo magic this kid did might disappear once we wake him. Maybe you want to make sure they're tied up too?"

Ren taps the side of leg momentarily to the silent ticking of his mind's contemplation before nodding. "That may be a good idea."

And then suddenly, a new sound interrupts the general murmur of medics and children and the bystanders that are gathering to survey the scene. "Wake up!" The scream is sand-paper rough, raw and exposed.

Standing suddenly straight, Ren swings a sharp gaze over his surroundings.

"I said wake up you Traitor! Are you just going to lie there?"

Ren's eyes find the source of the sound, hidden in the shadow between two nearby buildings. "Over there!" He points with a rigid finger, shoulder-blades tight with anxiety.

Tilting his head to the side and cocking an eyebrow, Jenkins comments idly, as if he's talking about buying a pack of cigarettes, "Sounds like one of ours. That Acadia girl. Yeah, sure of it. She's a screamer, that one. Even doped up she screams when we give her the mako."

Ren squints his eyes in a wince. He doesn't like to think about the particulars of what they were doing to make these kids into superheroes. He'd purposely avoided those details. Tried to focus on the reason, the mission, the goal. Save the world. Just like Zack. Just like Cloud. And now… just like Denzel.

"Wake the hell up, I said!"

The tone is getting more violent. "I'll go see what's wrong. Leave Denzel for now. Tell the others to secure the SOLDIERs. Then wake him up."

Jenkins shrugs and nods at the same time. It's not a consoling combination.

Ren sets off in the direction of Acadia's voice, jogging as he hears her shout yet again. The soot in the air seems to settle in his lungs—he can imagine it there, black and polluting. It fills the spaces inside of him, makes it hard to breathe, drives his heart to beat even faster. He knows it's in his head, but being aware of his neurotic tendencies doesn't change the fact that he has them. He's examined them enough though, determined not to let them be a liability, that he recognizes this particular paranoia is a sign of guilt. Guilt as he passes the medics taping up the gaping wound on the arm of one of the kids from HHI. The child is crying, calling for parents that probably died long ago when ShinRa set out to dominate the world by force and Sephiroth set out to do even worse.

He finds his way to the puddle of darkness that sits between two residential buildings. She's there, kneeling beside the body of one of the SOLDIERs. A large, muscular man with a strange scar on his cheek. It takes Ren another moment of observation to realize it is the letter 'S'. A strange scar… and he wonders if it meant something specific to the one who carved it there.

Acadia is up on her knees, hands balled into fists, leaning forward like she is about to start punching the man if he doesn't obey her commands.

"Acadia."

Her scowl turns toward him, fists rising in a more protective stance. "What? Why are _you_ here?"

He pauses, only a stride from the SOLDIER's feet. "I came to help. You were yelling."

"I don't need help. I need him to wake up."

Her whip-snap tone makes him anxious. "I don't think you can—at least not yet. Denzel neutralized them."

Eyes narrowing, she hisses, "_Denzel_?" Jabbing a thumb toward her chest, she emphasizes each word: "_I_ did this. Stabbed a knife in his arm and a needle in his chest. _I_ did this." She seems sadistically pleased with her graphic description and self-accusation.

It takes Ren a moment to collect his reaction. He understands her emotions probably better than she knows. Guilt, self-hate, anger—these have all been his companions over the years. It was only a sense of purpose that liberated him.

"Is he… is he dead?"

"No. Sedated."

"And you want him to wake up? Why?" He tries to sound calm, something that is an effort for him even in the best of times.

"So I can yell at him."

"Then what?"

Her defiant eyes dull for a moment. She is quiet, sullen, leaning back on her heals limply.

Something isn't right. "Acadia…"

Sucking in a deep breath of air, she comes to life again. "You don't have to ask. He's my father."

Stunned, Ren can't help pressing his lips together tightly and blinking several times in quick succession.

"It doesn't matter. So Denzel put the SOLDIERs to sleep? Ruined my fun? That explains it." Her change in mood is rapid, but not complete. Her tone still carries the vestiges of dark anger.

Ren, examining the SOLDIER more closely, sees the dark stains of blood soaking the man's clothes. "We need a medic."

"Already tried. They're busy."

But he looks up anyway, trying to see if any are near… and that's when he notices the body of Cloud Strife lying motionless on the ground barely twenty feet away.

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

"_Cloud Strife!"_

"_Yessir!" Cloud stands as straight as he can, concentrating on looking brave as he meets the harsh expression of his Sergeant._

"_Is this how you stand in a line, soldier?"_

_That last word sends a thrill down his spine, even though it isn't the capitalized version he aspires for. Looking left and right, he realizes he is slightly out of alignment with the rest of this troop. Bashfully, he sidles back with a scuff of his black boots. "Sorry Sir!"_

_The Sergeant shakes his head. "I won't graduate a sloppy private. Strife, pay attention! This is too common with you!"_

_Knowing his cheeks are turning red, Cloud shouts out another "Sorry Sir!" with what he hopes is a convincing display of commitment._

_But the Sergeant is relentless. "Why are you here, Private? Why did you come to ShinRa to join the military?"_

_Cloud doesn't know what the 'right' answer is, but he's learned there is one. There always is when his superiors ask him things. The only problem is that his answers and the 'right' answer never seem to be the same. _

"_Strife! Wake up! I asked you a question."_

_His time is up, and no 'right' answer magically appears, so instead, he goes with the truth. "To be a First Class SOLDIER, sir!"_

_The Sergeant laughs. He laughs and he laughs and he laughs. Bashfully, Cloud glances at the feet of the soldier next to him, but they aren't a soldier's boots, they're sneakers. Why would a soldier be… his eyes drift up to scan the shape of a tall, lanky boy with messy brown hair that covers eyes so ridiculously blue that he must be on—_

_SLIP!_

_His memories slip past each other and he falls out of one and into another._

_He's alone. The light of the golden saucer casts a pale glow across his hands as he stares down at them. It should be dark, but this place is so full of glitz and glam that it's almost impossible to tell. The day is endless. Time has no meaning._

_Lying illusion. Time is speeding by, marking his fate. Sephiroth is pressing on, destroying the world._

_And they're here, at the Golden Saucer, taking a break. Looking for "clues". He's frustrated, and he doesn't know why. Nothing makes sense. How did he get mixed up in this? How did he find himself leading this team?_

_Tifa, Aeris, Barret, Red… they're all inside, maybe playing games, maybe asking around for any leads on Sephiroth, maybe taking a moment to reflect, like he is._

_And these hands, these hands that were once clothed in the soft, naïve, innocence of a boy, are now callused with the hardness of too many death strikes. There will be more. More deaths. More sadness. He knows it. Because Sephiroth is still out there, and Sephiroth destroyed his home, killed Tifa's father, ended the peace._

_His eyes burn with focused concentration. These hands that shook hands with Sephiroth as a comrade. Hadn't they? With the feeling of knives boring through his temples, he lifts his gaze to the unnatural yellow sphere that looms monstrous above him. Sephiroth and him had been friends… he has the memories, but they feel like someone else's clothes, without the familiarity of the worn spots on the sleeves where he always uses them to shine his sword. It will be up to him to stop Sephiroth too, because he is a hero. And this part feels more like a new shirt he always wanted and finally has._

"_Cloud?"_

_That boy again—where was he from? Familiar face… He knows him, but where? One of the villages they passed through? He doesn't answer, simply shifts his stance defensively._

"_Cloud… where are we?" The boy looks confused. He spins slowly, looking up at the golden saucer that lights his jaw-dropped expression with an artificial glow. "Wow… what is that thing?"_

"_Golden Saucer."_

_The boy snaps his head around to face him, eyes wide. "You mean, __**the**__ Golden Saucer? The one Tifa told us about? The one with the rides and the races and the gambling?"_

"_You know Tifa?" Cloud looks at the boy a bit more carefully. Something tells him this kid doesn't belong here… but why? Then he notices the effect of his last question. The boy seems visibly deflated, shoulders drawn in, eyes downcast, hands suddenly in his pockets._

"_Oh… you don't… you don't know me."_

_Cloud feels bad. He doesn't know what he did wrong, but he doesn't like seeing this boy upset. "You do look familiar, I just can't place you. How do you know me?"_

_Biting his lip, the boy considers his answer. "My name is Denzel. And you're… you're kind of like my dad."_

_Denzel? The name, he knows it, and…_

_SLIP!_

_Another sliding of the fabrics of his memories, and he feels himself swept away to…_

_Seventh Heaven. Eyes down on the wood grain of the floor, interrupted by the outline of a hidden door to the basement below. He hears the distant sound of voices, Tifa's light optimist and Barret's rough enthusiasm. Should he go down? Taking a deep breath, he straightens, adjusting the huge sword on his back. His muscles feel tight, like they need to be stretched, need to be doing something, need to be using their disproportionate power. He looks around for a distraction, glancing over wooden stools and bottles of liquor on the wall. Nothing except… a boy?_

_Cloud spins to face him. A name pops in his head. "Denzel?" How does he know that name?_

_Blue eyes glow with sudden enthusiasm and a big smile fills the young face—not the face of a child, but lacking the hard lines of a man too. "You know me!" The boy flips long bangs out of his eyes with a jolt of his head._

"_I… can't really remember…" He's trying though, but his memory isn't really that good. So bad even, that many of his memories feel like he is watching them happen from the outside—like he wasn't really there at all._

_The smile wilts into a tight-lipped frown. A long pause, and then finally, "Maybe I should ask you stuff, to help you remember…" His voice quiets, as if he is talking to himself, "Isn't what she said she did the first time?" And then he nods, lifts his chin, and says more loudly, "Whatchya doing?"_

_The sudden change in attitude is a bit jarring, but Cloud can't fault Denzel for being eccentric. Something tells him that other people probably view him that way too. "Trying to figure something out."_

"_Like what?"_

_Cloud considers for a moment, should he open up to this person? It doesn't seem like it could hurt. Denzel looks non-threatening, and for some reason, Cloud knows him. Maybe they were friends once, a long time ago? "You ever want to be a hero Denzel?"_

_A blink, then a slow swallow. "Yeah…" The word is drawn out, weighed with emotion. The response surprises Cloud._

"_What happened?"_

"_I… uh… I might have gotten carried away. I left some people I cared about and they got hurt." There's a strange look in Denzel's eyes that Cloud can't decipher._

"_Why did you leave them? Don't heroes protect people?"_

_Denzel visibly winces at this and kicks at the ground. "Well, I was mad because they had done some things I didn't agree with and a lot of people died."_

_Nodding, Cloud glances back at the trap door in the floor, thinking about the people down there and what they represent. "I did some things and a lot of people died too. I didn't think about it much at first, but now I do. Barret says that the ends justify the means, but I'm not so sure. Do heroes get to pick and choose like that? When I was a kid I wanted to be a SOLDIER because I wanted to be special, but now I'm not so sure that's all there is to it."_

_Cloud looks back at Denzel who won't meet his eyes. Instead, the boy's brow is furrowed in thought. "Hey Denzel, can I tell you something?"_

_Denzel hesitates, then looks up and says, "Sure."_

"_I feel like I need to defeat Sephiroth. I haven't told the others this. I think I'll play it off for a while, but something makes me feel like I have to do it. I have to stop him."_

"_I think…" Denzel starts, looking away toward the shelves of liquor as he picks out his next words, "I think that's what makes you a hero, Cloud."_

_Cloud tilts his head, shifting his feet as he thinks about what that means before…_

_SLIP!_

_Suddenly, he is somewhere new. Outside, Nibelheim, by the river, and just a boy…_

_Cloud likes sunny days and cool water. Sometimes he imagines the sun has leaked into his hair and the water into his eyes and that's why he looks the way he does. Swinging his short legs through the gentle currents of the river, he smiles at the green trees, flattens his palms against the sides of the rock he sits on, and leans back on locked elbows. He's just a boy. There are only dreams here, no disillusioned realities. _

"_Hello?"_

_He blinks, trying to understand the sound of the voice he's heard. Somehow, he feels certain there should be no one else here. But the voice comes again: "Cloud?"_

_He jumps up quickly, so that he is standing on the rock, and spins around to face the intruder. It's a boy, probably about his age, with dark hair and very blue eyes. This isn't right. He feels certain he should be alone here and that this boy is in the wrong place. "Who are you?" Cloud asks suspiciously, sizing the boy up. Cloud is small for his age, and the boy is much taller, but he's used to fighting bullies bigger than himself. This other kid looks a little uncertain. If he has to, Cloud thinks he could beat him in a fight._

_The other boy looks surprised, eyes darting about to take in the surroundings._

"_Wait, you're Denzel." How does he know that? The name seemed to just pop into his head. Crossing his arms over his chest and standing up as tall as his limited stature will allow, Cloud adds with a surly edge, "What are you doing here?" _

"_I… uh… I'm trying to help."_

"_Help? Help who? If you need help, I'm just the guy for you. I'm going to be a SOLDIER someday." He imagines this must sound quite impressive to the timid-looking Denzel, but he doesn't get the awed expression he expects. _

"_How come?"_

_Incredulous, Cloud responds, "Because being a SOLDIER makes you a hero! People notice you then!" He shakes his head as if this should be obvious._

_Hesitating, Denzel finally says, "I think there's more to it."_

"_More to it?"_

"_Like a purpose. A reason. Someone you want to protect. I think… I think that's what it's all about."_

_It sounds reasonable. More than that, it sounds right. Cloud taps a finger against his chin, shifting his weight from side to side as he thinks. "Where'd you get that from?"_

"_You." Denzel smiles shyly. "I learned it from you."_

"_Me?"_

"_Well, you when you're older. Man, this is so weird."_

_Slip._

_It feels like he's sliding down a slide and landing somewhere new…_

_In the lifestream. Well, more accurately, in his mind while he was lost in the lifestream that time Tifa helped him out. It's strange to be standing here in a black abyss with scenes of his memories stretched out above him like constellations in the sky. And then there is Tifa, standing with another version of himself, trying to talk through his past._

"_I'm here again," he says out loud, voice wispy with revelation._

"_Is this when Tifa fixed you? When you fell into the lifestream?"_

_Turning towards his right, Cloud sees a boy—Denzel. He has the feeling he's been seeing this boy a lot lately, but it is the kind of feeling one has about a dream that they can't quite remember. _

"_That's crazy. A moment ago you were a kid, and now you're older."_

_Older? Oh yes… He nods at the figures of Tifa and himself in the distance as it begins to make sense. Of course, he's here again, unstuck in time. And this Denzel? He knows him because… Looking up at the sky, he tries to find the correct memory, hoping that one of the portals into his life will give him the answers. Somehow, it works, because he sees the boy's face, stretched out above him, then a girl. Her name is Marlene. Then Denzel, Marlene, Cloud, and Tifa—all of them together smiling out of a picture frame that sits beside his bed…_

"_Woah… Hey!… That's me!"_

_Cloud nods, feeling as if he's supposed to give Denzel an explanation, but he's not sure he can. The boy is perceptive though. Quiet and perceptive in a way Cloud never was. Cloud was quiet, but mostly with his own thoughts that were always running off in so many different directions. His quiet left him disjointed and out-of-touch with the world. But Denzel's quiet helps him understand. Cloud knows that because sometimes Denzel says things that made so much sense, but that he can't possibly know unless he had been paying very close attention._

"_So you remember me now?"_

_Cloud starts from his thoughts. He chides himself to pay attention. "Yes, I think so." he says, nodding again. Denzel, with that glint of something familiar in his eye. What was it? It was like what he used to see in Zack and what he sometimes felt inside. The kind of look that couldn't just let the world be as it was. The look that saw things it wanted to change. The look that was tortured by the things that felt _wrong_ to the ideology inside._

_Denzel smiles and it nearly takes over his face with relieved joy. With a more confident tone, he says, "I'm here to help you. To bring you back."_

"_Bring me back?" Cloud crinkles his brow. "Did I go somewhere?" Ah, but wait. He's here again. He looks around, realizing what that means. If he's here again, he must have... "Oh. I broke my mind again, didn't I?"_

"_Sorta."_

"_But how are you here?"_

_Denzel looks down. "Um… kinda complicated. But I can control the Lifestream. Well, at least, I seem to be able to. I only just learned…"_

_Denzel can control the Lifestream? He feels confused by the idea, but he isn't sure if that's warranted. Maybe it's something he should have known and forgot. Or maybe he's not understanding yet. Or maybe the lifestream is just messing with his already messed-up head and this is all a hallucination… It seems better not to ask for a moment because he feels himself slipping already and he doesn't know if the next place he finds himself in will make things clearer or only more fuzzy. So all he asks is, "Does that mean you can fix me?"_

_Slip._

_He feels himself tossed and turned and flipped over again, and when it stops, he is somewhere new…_

_Denzel's room. Watching him sleep. Tomorrow he leaves for Holding Hands International. Tomorrow Cloud takes a chance and lets the boy he thinks of as a son, have some freedom. "Denzel," he whispers. The sleeping form doesn't move. Cloud pauses because it takes him a few moments to orient his thoughts chronologically. It's like a deck of cards all out of order, with some of the numbers scratched off. But it's easier than it had been. This is a more recent memory, and he even has a vague sense of what comes after. There is a sudden glimpse of the future, of Denzel angrily waving a sword at him, and it feels like a nightmare because that isn't this boy. That isn't this peaceful, sleeping, slightly insecure, adolescent boy._

_He wants to tell Denzel, wants him to understand. Because he was that same boy once, and he also became that same person waving a sword for reasons he didn't even understand. "You know, I've lost myself a few times. Guess that's obvious." Cloud begins quietly. "But I remember how I always figured out who I was again…" _

_A pause, sorting through memories, figuring out what comes next. He continues, slowly, deliberately, "The first time was when Zack helped me to escape from Hojo's lab. I had mako poisoning and I was in sort of a coma. Zack died saving me and when I woke up I thought I was him. Tifa's probably told you. She likes to remind me of how crazy I was then and take all the credit for making me sane." He smiles, thinking of Tifa and how it felt to have her standing in his fractured mind refusing to let him fall to pieces—no, focus…_

"_Anyway, it took remembering to help me figure it out. Tifa helped me piece my memories together in the lifestream. Memories of my mom cooking in the kitchen and Tifa as a child the night I told her I wanted to be a SOLDIER, memories of the reactor explosion at Nibleleim and the first time I met Zack. Those memories and the people in them helped me figure myself out. I knew who I was when I knew who they were. When the Remnant came to revive Sephiroth, I think I forgot myself again. I had the stigma and I thought I was no good to anyone. But you know what? It was Tifa and you and Marlene that helped me realize that I was Cloud Strife, even if I was dying or sick. And then Barret and Yufi and all the others came. That helped me remember why I was Cloud Strife. I don't think I could have beat Sephiroth again without all of them. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"_

"_That it's important to know who I am?"_

_The voice startles Cloud. He nearly jumps, gaping at the form of Denzel huddled under his covers. Had the boy moved? Was he awake? Taking a step closer to inspect, Cloud hears the voice again—_

"_Cloud, I'm behind you."_

_Turning, Cloud sees a duplicate of Denzel standing by the open door. He sputters for a moment, before remembering that this probably isn't as unreasonable as it seems considering that he is slightly crazy. So he continues, figuring things will eventually make more sense. "Not just who, but why. When I thought I was Zack after Hojo's lab, it didn't work. I was confused because I didn't know why I was Zack. My memories, the people around me, didn't fit with it."_

"_Why am I Denzel?"_

"_That's the real question."_

_Denzel flips his long bangs out of his eyes and stares at Cloud a little blankly and fearfully. "I don't know?"_

"_It's okay. But figure it out. That way you'll always know what's important." He thinks for a moment, wondering what is supposed to come next. More visions of the future fill his mind and he adds, "When I went to Holding Hands International to find you I didn't have to hesitate."_

"_You came to find me?"_

"_Yeah. You know why? Because you're important to me. You're my son, maybe not in blood but we're a family anyway and I'm Cloud Strife because of the people I care about." _

_Sullenness rests on Denzel's shoulders, his eyes dropping to the floor as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Hey… um… Cloud? I'm sorry I tried to kill you. I wouldn't have really. I promise I wouldn't have."_

_Denzel tried to kill him? It takes a little effort, but he finds the "memory"—if something that takes place in the future can be called that. _

"_I was just—just mad, you know? Why did you do it? Why help destroy the Number 5 Reactor? If that hadn't happened, then maybe Sector Seven wouldn't have happened. I just wish that Sector Seven hadn't happened."_

_Cloud isn't really sure what he's supposed to say. Words seem clumsy to him, like they so often do. He doesn't know how to make abstract thoughts and feelings and perceptions fit into them. But he tries, because the boy in front of him needs him to. "We thought we had a higher cause. Saving the planet. That's why we did it. If we had known the price… Barret used to always say the planet needed us."_

"_But…" Denzel looks up, expression pained. "People died!" And Cloud knows he means his parents._

_Aeris' face hangs for a moment in the air before him. "Yeah, people died." He looks past Denzel's shoulder and sees memories flit across the wall. He sees the destruction after the Sector Seven collapsed and then the many towns he visited in search of Sephiroth. All of them touched by ShinRa's greed. The broken families and polluted land. It was like everything was fading to gray and it would all disappear if they didn't stop it… "But without the planet they would have died too. We needed to be AVALANCHE to stop that. We weren't perfect, and there must have been better ways, but we only had that one goal."_

"_But… does that make it okay?"_

_Cloud shakes his head and the playback of memories disappears. "I don't know. Maybe not."_

_Silence for a time, and then: "Cloud? I don't hate you."_

_Stepping toward the boy, Cloud reaches out a hand to ruffle his messy hair. "Thanks."_

"_I mean, I can't think what you did was right. But I can't hate you either."_

_For some reason, that is incredibly consoling in a way that Cloud didn't even know he needed. "Hey… man hug?"_

"_Cloud…" Denzel roles his eyes, but that's all the effort he puts into his machismo before he is in Cloud's arms and clinging to him tightly. _

_Cloud gently kisses the top of Denzel's head, Denzel's hair catching in the stubble of his growing beard. Something inside him hurts because something of childhood innocence is melting away in this moment, and he wonders whether it is a boy or a man in his arms._

_But it doesn't matter really, because the heart is the heart of a hero. He feels sure of that._

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

_End Chapter 15_

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

A/N: Well, here I am back and finally finishing this story. Only one chapter to go! It's partially written already. Feedback is appreciated. I took a long hiatus from this story, so I'm a little concerned I may have lost the feel for the characters. Also, I'm hoping all the Cloud flashbacks weren't too confusing. They were meant to give the sense of confusion, since Cloud is currently suffering from acute mako poisoning, but not be so confusing that the reader is left frustrated.


	17. The Sun Always Rises

**_A/N: Because it takes strength to move on…_**

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

**Chapter 17 – The Sun Always Rises**

_Sometimes he likes the rest, the feeling of floating languidly without the weight of responsibility to sink him. Then, sometimes he is desperate and anxious to get back, rolling on the gentle seas of his memories with no ability to move forward or backward. Without time, he is boundless. He is everything at once—a child, a teenager, an adult—but not an old man because that hasn't happened yet. Will it? _

_There are whirlpools in his memory, traumatic events that threaten to pull him down. He gets stuck in them sometimes, trapped in an endless spiral. And then he sees her face, eyes red and brown and orange swirled together in kaleidoscope imagery. He sees her long fingers brush a strand of black hair away from her cheek that glows pink like the promise of sunrise. He sees himself taking his own calloused hand to that cheek before he leans in to kiss her, his other hand brushing the satin back of her white dress._

_It's moments like those that free him from the whirlpools of guilt and fear that threaten to pull him down. It's moments like those that remind him that the sun always rises. It's something she's said to him before. Something she's said to him many befores. On nights when he sat at an empty bar table, far-away and reliving some horrible shred of his past or worrying about an uncertain future. She always came to him, at first taking a seat beside him and then finding a way into his lap. She would place a hand over his beating heart and remind him of all the good things that had happened to him. And when he inevitably turned to her with wonderment and awe in his eyes at how easily she seemed able to piece him back together, she'd laugh lightly and slap his chest playfully, saying, "Oh Cloud! The sun always rises you know! Even after that night, even after meteor, the sun rose."_

_But sometimes he still forgets. Then he sees Denzel, standing on the shore. With Denzel come associations, like a web diagram he draws out from the tall, thin body. Connected to one arm he draws Marlene. To the other he draws Tifa. And when he gets to the shore he grabs Tifa's hand and then Marlene's to form a circle. That's when the diagram is complete and he feels solid ground under his feet._

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

"The turtle looked at his friends and said, 'I'll climb the mountain and save Mr. Frog!' 'But you're so slow!' cried Miss Rabbit. 'But I'm determined!' replied Mr. Turtle."

Leaning back in the metal chair with one bent leg, Tifa sighs as she turns the glossy page of the children's book she's struggling to read aloud with some enthusiasm. The sound the paper makes is like the tearing of a heavy curtain in the silence of the room. Rocking back and forth gently on her wobbly seat, she glances around briefly. Cloud lies unconscious and still as a stone on the decoupled bottom bunk of what was once a two bunk set in the center of the room. The former top bunk is pushed against the wall under the single window behind her. The bedding is a deep blue color with a fresh newness that contrasts Cloud's pale skin and the translucent tubes that disappear into his arms to keep him hydrated and nourished. In the morning light the cream-colored walls glow warmly, but she shivers when she considers it because there is an inescapable chill she's felt for weeks. There isn't much furniture. Aside from the bunks there is only a single wardrobe against the opposite wall made of pale imitation wood, similar in color to the bunk beds. Formally the room Denzel slept in during his two-week stay at the supposed "summer camp", this is now one of the 'rehab' rooms they have set up at HHI Headquarters. The other former dorm rooms house the ex-SOLDIERs, all sedated and being gradually weaned off mako—for better or for worse, considering the withdrawal symptoms they'll have to live with.

All of them are sedated, except for Cloud. Cloud is in a coma.

One month. For one month Tifa has been coming here daily, to this room filled with odd contradictions that mimic the personality of its doctor, Jenkins. She smells antiseptic and cigarette smoke all at once. Purification and poison in the same breath.

Every day is just like this, Cloud stretched out on his back, wearing a black t-shirt and pants she's brought him from home, the blue sheet draped over his too-thin body. She can tell he's lost a lot of weight, exaggerated by the bulging of muscles unnaturally pumped with mako. He's been on low doses of the drug since they brought him here, combined with a course of anti-toxins. It's the best way, according to Jenkins. "Wean him off like a baby off its mamma's milk," Jenkins had said, a cigarette wagging from his lips in time with each syllable. She remembers their first conversation in this room. She'd been unconscious herself for nearly a day after the injuries she'd suffered from the battle, but as soon as she could she'd gone to see Cloud, her breathing shallow from her bandaged ribs and desperate heart.

"_What will happen to him?" she had asked._

"_That's a good question Sweetcakes. The guy is a bit of an extremist, isn't he? Didn't go light on the mako dose he took. Doesn't touch the stuff for years and then OD's. Ain't so smart." Jenkins had responded, attaching a new bag of water to Cloud's IV with a loud click._

_Too terrified to react with anger at his insensitivity, she'd said, "Will he be okay?"_

_Jenkins had rubbed his beard and given Cloud's body a quizzical look. "Physically, I think I can get him out of the coma if I ease him off the mako—should help with the more acute effects of mako poisoning. But the brain is the bigger issue."_

"_What do you mean?" It had seemed all she could manage was timid-sounding questions._

"_I mean you better hope your super-freak kid can set him straight or his body will wake up but nobody will be home."_

She blinks at the present and finds nothing has changed.

Denzel sits in a chair on the other side of Cloud, leaning forward with his elbows on the edge of the bed, temples resting in a cradle of his fingers and eyes half closed. He's far away, inside Cloud's mind, trying to help Cloud piece things together. Last time it had been her job to do that, but now they have Denzel and his newly discovered ability to navigate the Lifestream.

"_You always fix me." _Cloud had said once. Except this time she can't fix him. This time she isn't in his mind to help piece him back together.

_Come on, Tifa. Toughen up. A month ago you fought a SOLDIER. A month ago Cloud almost died. A month ago Denzel was missing. And now all of you are here and no one is going to die. Everyday things get a little better. _

She feels worn out with the turn of negativity her mind has taken of late, ground down by quiet days of waiting.

So instead she hums a song her father used to whistle. It's never had words, or at least, she's never known them, but it is one of the most soothing tunes she knows. The book in her lap is one of Cloud's favorites to read to the children. She remembers slipping into Marlene's room once, finding him sitting in the middle of the pink bed with Marlene in his lap. Denzel was leaning against the wall by the door, trying to look non-committal, like he wasn't really planning to stay and listen at all, like he might leave at any moment. But he never did, and neither did she, enjoying the look of her family together like that. Later, over a drink in the bar downstairs, Cloud had told her he identified with the turtle in the story because even though the turtle didn't look the strongest, he was determined, and that was enough for him to save the day.

"Be determined now, Cloud." Can he hear her, somewhere deep down where his consciousness is hidden?"

It's a nice idea that he can, so she clings to it.

Looking down at the colorful illustrations in her lap, she continues, "Slow and steady, the turtle began making his way up the mountain toward the bright light of the sun. It was hard work, but he wasn't worried. He was determined to make it all the way, one step at a time."

"Tifa?"

She blinks and realizes Denzel is staring at her with glassy eyes. "You're the key, I think," he says softly when her eyes meet his.

She can't help the furtive glance she gives Cloud's face, the stab of disappointment to realize he isn't awake.

"The key?" she asks.

Denzel nods slowly, and she is struck by how much older he has gotten in such a short space of time. It still feels unfamiliar to think of Denzel as the product of ShinRa experimentation, but she can't deny the new powers he's discovered, or the change they've effected in him. He's even quieter than usual, like he's carrying a new weight of responsibility.

"To helping Cloud figure everything out. He seems to be using you as sort of an index." Pausing, he shrugs slightly, "I guess it makes sense. You were there in his life even before his first mako treatments. Before he started… getting confused."

There's a gradually spreading burn in her chest that seems to enhance the ever-present butterflies in her stomach. Her still-healing ribs hurt as she takes a breath. "How is he this time?"

"He tackled me when he saw me and challenged me to a duel. Wooden swords of course. He said you get angry when he tracks blood into the kitchen."

She laughs. "He's coming back to himself then."

Standing, Denzel stretches his arms high over his head and yaws. She recognizes it as his way of trying to look nonchalant and casual. Several vertebrae pop loudly. "Yeah. I mean, he hasn't had too much trouble knowing who he is. It's just getting the order of events right. It gets jumbled. But he says it's always a little like that. Ever since Hojo started experimenting on him. I guess the biggest thing is the effect of the Jenova cells. It's like they try to take over sometimes. He says he can hear the other SOLDIERs. And then he gets…" Denzel stops abruptly. His hands are crossed behind his neck and he drops them to his sides again. The sounds of them brushing against his baggy combat-style pants is unnaturally loud in the silent room. Another shrug.

"Denzel," Tifa says in her warning tone. "What have I said about finishing your sentences?"

He rolls his eyes and waves in a vague, slightly annoyed way. "He gets, I dunno…. Angry, panicked, maybe a little desperate. He's trying to control it." Face reshaping into a scowl, he looks down. "I can't help him with that." And he sounds completely defeated.

It is practically reflex when she walks around Cloud's bed and gathers Denzel up in a hug. "Honey, we're his family. Just being here is helping him with it." She doesn't know if that's true, but it feels right and so she decides that she is going to believe it with all her heart.

A gruff, male voice clears itself. "You really are a sweet family. They should take pictures of you and put it on postcards. I'd buy one."

Tifa turns to see Jenkins enter the room, letting the door fall closed behind him with a loud, irreverent 'thud'. Like usual, the first thing he does when he sees her is travel her body with his eyes. She frowns at him, but otherwise doesn't react. She's used to the men in her bar doing things like that. Most are too afraid of her and of Cloud to be so bold, but not all are so smart. Eventually they find out though—she knows how to handle herself.

Jenkins smiles a toothy grin. "How's the invalid rock star?"

She glances down at Denzel, noticing the tight clench of his jaw, and decides she'd better answer before he does. "Denzel says he's making progress."

Nodding, Jenkins walks toward Cloud, immediately picking up the man's wrist and producing a syringe of green liquid from a pocket in the ridiculously bright yellow, button-up shirt he is wearing. "I think this is the last dose for our boy here. He should be able to handle coming off the drug the rest of the way on his own. Course, now is when the not-so-pretty withdrawal symptoms start setting in. I expect he'll be shaking like a newborn for a week or so—and be just as weak too. Would have been far worse though, if we hadn't weaned him off. Don't think he could have survived it, so thank you very much Dr. Jenkins for being a savior." The needle slides under Cloud's skin.

Tifa brightens. "You mean, he'll wake up?"

"Think so. Once the last of it is out of his system. He's just been so damaged by the stuff that being high is sort of an overload for him. Advanced mako poisoning. It's what the dealers on the street don't know. Life is all fine and dandy when they shoot up but eventually the brain damage just gets so bad that they'll slip into a coma and not wake up."

He pushes the plunger down on the syringe and Tifa thinks she sees the too-prominent veins in Cloud's arm glow with the faintest hue of green.

"Course, who knows with Jenova cells thrown into the mix. Just adds another level of fun." Shrugging as if he were talking about nothing more important than the weather, Jenkins pulls the syringe out of Cloud's arm and lets the wrist fall limply against the mattress.

Denzel straightens suddenly from the slumped position he's assumed in his chair and says, "How do you know so much about mako and Jenova cells anyway?"

Tifa realizes she's never thought to ask, but now she considers how strange it really is. The only experts on mako were the ones ShinRa used...

And as if answering her thoughts, Jenkins chuckles and says, "What, are you just now noticing? I worked in Hojo's lab. I was just an apprentice then, but I was there when he worked on Mr. Bad Hair Day over here." He nods toward Cloud's prone form.

Hands in fists, she feels before she thinks, already shifting her weight to lunge at the scientist before she catches a glimpse of Denzel, like a still shot in a photo album. Darkened eyes like a pre-storm sky and chin set like a cliff, he is a boy with immeasurable power and unstable emotion. So she stops before she ever really starts, because she's his only guardian now, and she has to teach him right. Putting a hand on Denzel's rigid shoulder, pressing the fingers into flesh, she says with articulated syllables, "You were involved with the experiments on Cloud?"

Jenkins is a step from the door now, with his back to it, but he doesn't look threatened. "Look, Sweetcakes, it was nothing personal. I was in it for the science, not the politics." He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm a simple man," he drawls, "with simple needs. As long as Ren pays well, I'm here to help."

She feels icy cold as Jenkins turns and exits the room, empty syringe dangling from his thick fingers.

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

_The wave of mako that signals the swell of a new storm drowns him every time with an explosion of sound that isn't his. Cloud screams but he never hears the resulting vibrations of air against his ears because he is in another man's mind._

_SOLDIER. I am power and strength and justice compacted in a perfect form. More than a man, I stand for peace and order. I am a protector of ShinRa, the hope for tomorrow._

_The other man's mind yells the words in his with violence and he feels them because he's said them once too. Recited them from Zack's memories of SOLDIER initiation training long ago when he wasn't himself._

_And who is he now?_

_The other man is standing in a circle of grass surrounded by trees. Strange shadows dance along the edges, silhouettes of his fellow SOLDIERs. The sky is emerald, the clouds alive and slithering in a strange dance. The man wears a robe, hood thrown back, head tilted up. A white 'S' glows wanly on his cheek. He holds his sword out in one hand, horizontal to the ground and dripping red._

_Cloud is there, on the other side of the clearing, his own sword split into twin blades that he holds before him. There is a feeling of familiarity as he looks down at his hands gripped tight on the hilts and he remembers Kadaj, and how Sephiroth filled Kadaj's body and tried to take away everything that was important. His teeth are clenched so hard his jaw hurts when he looks up again, expecting to see long white hair caught up on the wind. But instead, that same SOLDIER is there, understanding fear in his eyes._

_Their minds are linked._

"_Who are we?" the man asked._

_And the setting changes. The trees wither and die and brick shelters rise up in place with the empty, gaping mouth of a mine carved into a hillside at the end of a straight dusty road. The SOLDIER looks around and Cloud's eyes follow. Bodies are everywhere. Not the bodies of fighting men. The bodies of families sliced to shreds. Cloud feels sickness spreading into his limbs from the pit of his stomach. Those wounds are sword wounds. Large and gaping. He looks down at his own swords and he isn't sure… Did he do this?_

"_I did." The man says it like he is sealing some secret pact._

"_Why?"_

"_ShinRa." But then he laughs, an empty and desperate sound like metal sliding against metal. The sword drops from his hand, sand enveloping it as it impacts the ground. "I tell myself I was loyal and that that was good. We raided the mines because the ShinRa kid said to. He told us that they were making bad stuff, tainted, and that he would supply us with the good stuff. So we listened. But then he betrayed us and gave us something tainted. Tinu died and all I wanted was to kill him for it. To resurrect the past. To bring back the ShinRa from a time when everything seemed so simple. But we were desperate. We needed mako. On the other raids, our mission was just to shut down production, not to hurt anyone. But by the time we came here we were all suffering the beginnings of withdrawal and we were like animals. We did not know what we were doing until it was done."_

_There is a crack of thunder in the sky and a swirl of air so fierce it could be the start of a tornado. It brings with it the smell of burnt flesh mingled with the faint sweetness of Life's Blood._

_With horror and shock contorting his features, the SOLDIER blinks at his hands and says, "My daughter is alive. Acadia is alive." Then he tilts his head back, closes his eyes, and opens his mouth in a silent scream. He lets his long robe fall off his shoulders and grabs the collar of his grey shirt, ripping it down the front. "The rest are dead. I left them, and they died. How can I face her?" Voice so strangled it sounds like the squeal of an animal rather than a man, he looks Cloud square in the eyes and says, "Look at me. I should be dead, not them."_

_Cloud's own memories mingle with the scene before them. The Number 5 reactor rises into the sky, breaking through the hillside and eradicating the mine. He hears a rumbling behind him and knows he'll see Sector 7 collapsing if he turns around. So he doesn't. Instead he says, "You have a choice."_

_Tentatively, Cloud takes a step closer, bending to lay his swords down besides the SOLDIER's._

"_Spend your life regretting or spend your life redeeming yourself. I've tried both. The second is a lot better," Cloud continues. He tries to smile, but finds he can't with the carnage surrounding him, so instead he walks toward the SOLDIER and offers his hand. The SOLDIER gazes at him under long bangs that hang in tired clumps. Then, with another gust of wind shrieking past them they are grasping each other's forearms._

"_I know," Cloud says, his face close enough to the other man's that he can see the streaks of tears down the worn cheeks. "I know the rage, the violence that lingers just under the surface. Maybe it was always there. Maybe that's why ShinRa recruited us. Or maybe it came from Jenova…"_

"_And what do you do when it comes?"_

"_I channel it into something good." He pauses, then tilts his head to the side and looks away, "Or I go find a monster to smash with my very large sword. Whichever I can manage first."_

_The man laughs again, but this time with a little less emptiness, and when Cloud meets the man's eyes again, he does manage a slight smile._

_Before the psychic link breaks, he forces a sunrise into the sky, bright, clean rays cutting through the dust in the air and gleaming off the metal of their discarded swords. 'For Tifa', he thinks. They watch it together as their thoughts fade apart._

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

Tifa wanders outside of HHI Headquarters into the midday sun, taking a deep breath of the dry desert air and opening her mouth to the sun as if she could breathe in its brightness and let those rays radiate back through her being. Closing her eyes and raising her arms out to the light, she remembers watching Cloud and Denzel tumbling in the grass the last time they went on a picnic together, leaves sticking out from their messy hair as they wandered to her sheepishly with impish smiles on their faces and asked for some lunch.

Letting that moment linger in her mind and sighing contentedly, Tifa drops her arms and opens her eyes. She is surprised to realize Elena is standing only a short distance away, watching her. Looking a little embarrassed when their eyes meet, Elena quickly shifts her gaze away.

"Here for Tseng's treatment?" Tifa asks politely. She hadn't known Tseng was even an addict until he and Elena started showing up here a few times a week to treat his withdrawal symptoms. "How is he?"

"Oh, doing better I think!" she responds, with a little excess emphasis. Then, somewhat more subdued, she continues, "He's getting those shaking attacks less. The shots he gets here help, but I guess there will always be some effects."

Tifa nods, knowing all too well the price that comes with mako. The "anti-withdrawal" medicine Jenkins has been using is really just a mixture of anti-toxins and muscle relaxants that help the body cope better. She wonders if Elena realizes the long-term effects—that the shaking attacks will always happen from time to time, that Tseng will always be just a little off-balance with his memories.

"What will you do now?"

Elena looks down, kicks at the dirt, shakes her head and says, "I don't know. We've worked for Rufus for so long…"

"But you can't work for him now!"

Startled, Elena straightens and clasps her hands in front of her. "We don't know what his involvement was. I mean, we know some, but maybe there's more to it. He's still recovering and we haven't all talked about it yet."

"The let's."

"What?"

"Let's talk about it. The Turks. Us. Ren. As soon as Cloud is awake. Because we all nearly died from this and our planet has been through so much. This can't keep happening!"

For a long moment, Elena stares at her, mouth slightly open and looking like she is trying to decide before she finally says, "Okay. As soon as Cloud is awake, we all meet."

A little surprised at how easy that was, Tifa asks, "No going back on that, right?"

"No." Elena smiles a little and shakes her head. "Too much has happened. I don't think any of us want to just follow blindly anymore. Times have changed. Maybe we have to too."

"Then we'll shake on it," Tifa replies, moving toward her and sticking out a hand.

Elena grabs it with her own and the two women lock eyes. Tifa wonders if maybe they aren't so different. Certainly they've both had to learn to survive in a broken world. They've both tried to stick to what they believed in. Maybe Elena just picked the wrong side to believe in. And maybe, that's about to change.

"Tifa?" Denzel's voice comes from behind her.

Letting go of Elena's hand, Tifa turns toward him. He is holding the glass door of the HHI lobby open with a smile on his face that has Tifa's heart jumping into her throat even before he says the next words: "He's awake."

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

He'd thought that when he awoke he would no longer feel the sensation of floating on the sea, but he had been wrong. He feels slightly queasy as he looks around the room, his mind shifting and falling in and out of then and now. He's lying on what looks to be a detached bunk bed from a two-bunk set. The other bed is pushed up against a wall in the corner under a single window. It must be open because the curtains flutter, sparkles of light dancing in the white shear fabric and casting shadows on the yellow walls.

He thinks of _a morning, waking up for school. I saw the light coming in the window and thought that I wished I could fly up to the sun just so I could know what the world looked like from there._

Then the sea of his thoughts shifts and he is lying on the ground after being attacked by some horrible creature and he can't quite place when it was but he distinctly remembers opening his eyes, head throbbing, and being blinded by the brightness of the sun as a gust of wind threw sand into the air. Each grain caught the light like a mirror and he'd thought of the reflective paper he used to watch Tifa fold into birds and other animals when she wasn't paying attention in class.

He closes his eyes and digs his fingers into the mattress. He tries to focus on _now_, going through a list of questions to orient himself. Who? Cloud Strife. What? Husband, father, delivery boy… crusader for a better tomorrow? That sounds a little over-the-top, but he moves on anyway. Where? It takes him a moment of dizziness to get the answer to that one, but he finally settles on HHI Headquarters. Why? Because he took a mako shot to save his son and lost his mind in the process… again.

"Cloud?" The voice is airy, like it belongs to the wind.

He opens his eyes and Tifa is there, beside his bed. A collection of long curved lines. Her chest rises and falls with her quick breath and the short flowing skirt she wears over black leggings is swaying around her legs. He's studying the way the hem gets lifted just so, trying to solidify some association that he feels like a ghost. Frustrated, he closes his eyes again to slow his mind down.

After a moment: "Cloud? Can you hear me?"

"I don't want to go to school Mom." It's a joke, because really what else can he do but joke right now? He can't say he didn't know the chances he took with the decisions he made. He doesn't regret them. She's the one that taught him not to be tied by regret.

When she speaks again, it is tentative. "Cloud… it's Tifa." A pause, then with some uncertainty: "It's not your mom."

He lets the smile inside of him surface just enough to curve his lips and replies, "Tifa… I know I get a little confused sometimes, but I would never be confused enough to marry my mom… I hope." Then he opens his eyes again, forcing himself to focus on her face so he won't get lost.

For a moment that face wears a hybrid of shock and confusion before it coalesces into a falsely sour purse of her lips. Slapping his chest lightly, she says, "That's not funny, Cloud."

"Hey, no hitting a wounded man."

"I've been so worried about you!" she continues.

"I know."

"You shouldn't have done what you did. I know why you did it, but we should have talked about it first."

He sees her face when he showed her those syringes of mako he was holding in his hand after he found out Denzel was missing. There was horror and fear and resolution all at once. He'd recognized all those emotions because he shared them, even though he'd decided already. And as he'd wrapped her in his arms, he'd glanced up at the rusty fire escape that was the main adornment of the alleyway they stood in and thought about escape routes and how this time he couldn't run away. Not like he did when he had geostigma. He cared too much now. And maybe he was rusting like that fire escape was, but there was still something hard underneath and he would use it until it snapped. "I had to do it," he says, remembering that he is having a conversation right now.

"But Cloud… we're a team… we need to decide these things together."

"What would you have decided?" He asks because he never thought to, and now he really wants to know.

She turns her head to look out the window. Her hand still rests on his chest, where she had playfully slapped him earlier, and he becomes distracted by it, thinking of all the things he's seen her hands do—elegant long fingers punctuated by swollen joints hardened by her martial arts training.

"I think… maybe… the same thing you did anyway. But that's not the point."

"Oh." He knows it's not the answer she's hoping for, but he wants to at least acknowledge he's thinking about it, to let her know that he's trying to pay attention and understand.

Sighing, the tension drops out of her shoulders. She tilts her head and smiles, a physical manifestation of the shift in her mood. "We have to stick together, okay?"

He nods once, and then slides over to make room for her on the bed, opening his arms so she can snuggle against him. Her response is immediate, and he is thankful for the solid feel of her against him, the heat of her realness warming his skin. He feels pain too, a general soreness that permeates every joint and muscle, and even that is a blessing because with pain comes clarity. He remembers he got beat up pretty badly in that fight with the SOLDIER—Sevi.

"I missed you Cloud," she mumbles into his side.

Nuzzling her hair with his chin, he nods his agreement. The stubble of his beard catches in the silken strands. Curious, he touches his face and realizes he's got more than a few days growth. He's not sure he's ever let himself grow a full beard before, and wonders what it looks like. But as he's trying to conjure up the image, a monsoon wells up in his mind and he falls off a giant wave into icy black water, body shaking violently.

A thousand points in time try to happen at once…

"_Hey! I'm gonna climb to the top of that mountain! Wanna come?"_

"_I'm sorry Sir! I'll do better, I promise! Someday I'm going to be a SOLDIER!"_

"_Tifa… I'm going to kiss you now. Let's see how much we can gross out the kids."_

"_You know, you're good with a sword, but you're reckless too. It's a good thing you've got me around to keep you out of trouble."_

"_Marlene, one day the guys are going to figure out that girls don't have cooties. Barret says you can't date until you're an old lady, so you just send the guys my way. I'm good at being scary."_

A starburst of pain explodes, sending pulses throughout his body, and then he is suddenly lying on the bed again, damp with sweat, Tifa on top of him with a hand on each shoulder yelling his name.

He's out of breath, and it takes him a few gasps before he can manage to say, "I'm here."

She holds him as the shaking subsides and his pulse slows. "Sorry," he whispers, and she looks up at him to give him a berating look for his self-deprecation. She always could tell when he was feeling down on himself. But then, he guesses he might be rather obvious about it.

After a while she says, with a brightness only she can manage, "Dr. Jenkins says the first week will be the hardest, but then the attacks should subside some. And once you recover, you'll actually feel stronger for a while. It will be like you had mako conditioning all over again."

Mako. "No more shots." His tone is fierce.

"Your last one was this morning."

"I could feel them. Every one of them. No more." And he almost slips into the memory of the last psychic link he shared with Sevi, standing in the mining town the SOLDIERs had destroyed.

"You could feel them?" She sounds a little muffled. She's pressed herself tight against his side under his arm.

"There was a psychic link… each time. With the other SOLDIERs." _Other_ SOLDIERs? He has to remind himself, that technically, he was never actually a SOLDIER.

Then, before she can respond, he adds, "We have to help them." Because they're victims here too. Because Zack could have ended up just like them. Because he could have ended up just like them. If he hadn't had Tifa. If she'd never convinced him to join Avalanche and made herself his anchor.

"We will," she says with solid support.

Relaxed and content, he risks letting his eyes peruse the room again. There is a chair on either side of the bed. One is empty, but there is a book on the seat of the other one. Squinting at the cover, he makes out the words, "The Brave Turtle." And he laughs.

Her head pops up and she follows his gaze to the book. "That explains a lot," he says.

"I've been reading you that book at least once a week. I remembered you liked it."

"And about once a week I had a very vivid dream involving a turtle and a mountain. I kept trying to figure out if it was some sort of memory I had misplaced."

She laughs then too, a light sound in a room too heavy with long days of silence. "Well, you did read it to the kids a few times."

"Yes…" He pauses, remembering every single time all at once, closing his eyes. She breaks him out of the feedback loop of recollection with his name.

"Cloud?"

Considering that teasing her is probably better than worrying her, he responds, "Shhh. I'm not deaf, just crazy."

"Cloud…" this time her voice has a warning tone that he reads like an invitation.

"Remember, I'm wounded. You have to be nice to me."

"I'm not normally nice to you?"

"Well… super extra nice. The kind of nice where I get peanut butter pies everyday."

She lifts her head to frown at him through the bangs of hair that have come loose from her pony tail and pokes his ribs. "You could use them."

He touches the same spot and is surprised at how easily he feels the bones. How long was he unconscious for? Denzel had said a month the last time he'd ventured into his head, right? "Is that a yes?" he asks.

"Not _every_ day."

"Most days?"

"Oh Cloud, you'll lose all your teeth!"

One side of his mouth lifts. "Is that what you're worried about?"

She rolls her eyes and sighs, letting her head flop down against his chest for effect. He pats her hair, as if to say, "there, there". In response, she pokes his ribs again, making him jump.

"Denzel said you were using me as some sort of index for your memories."

Letting his fingers trace the curve of her back, he replies, "I guess you could say that. Having Denzel there helped me ground who I was—who I am. But he doesn't know me like you do. A lot of my memories were—are jumbled. But you're there in a lot of them—by association even when you aren't directly. So I've been trying to use that to help me figure it out." A little embarrassed, he adds, "I might have to ask you when things happened from time to time."

"Don't worry, we've done this before. And… I hate to admit it, but it's kind of fun putting your past back together because then I get to remember things too."

"I guess I never thought of it like that." His voice comes out quietly, and he feels very tired. The swaying sensation in his head picks up, so he reaches out to grab the children's book on the chair to give him something tangible to keep him in the here and now. The pages naturally fall open to her bookmark, which he recognizes immediately. It is the blue flower he gave her. It is almost purple now that it has dried, with only the faintest streaks of the turquoise that characterize its youth at its base. He traces a brown stain on one of the petals that could be his blood or could be hers.

He thinks of her face when he asked her to marry him. He was holding out one of these flowers even as he bled from the wounds of a recent battle. It strikes him that maybe she is right, maybe the overriding presence of his memories can be a good thing, at least when the associations are happy. Maybe the trick to mastering his illness is to get good at making the happy associations. If he could soak up her optimism, he knows it would be easy. Capturing her hand that rests on his chest in his, he says, "Thanks for always fixing me."

She doesn't respond right away, but then finally, her ear pressed against him, she says, "Cloud, our heartbeats match," and smiles a beautiful, brilliant smile like the rising of the sun.

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

_End Chapter 17_

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

A/N: Thank you to those of you who reviewed this story over the years, even though it had been so long since I last updated. I'll admit, I really struggled to pick this back up after shelving it for so long. I think I probably rewrote this chapter about three times. There was one section that I completely scrapped and redid from a different character's perspective. All that's left is an epilogue, which will sort of be like a mini-chapter. It's almost done, so it should be up in about a week. It will feel really good to change the status of this story to complete! Again, thank you to all of you who have read and reviewed. I wouldn't have gone back to this without your kind words.


	18. Family Portrait: Rufus

_**A/N: Because power can be quite lonely…**_

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

**Chapter 18 - Family Portrait: Rufus**

Sometimes when he closes his eyes and the breeze lifts the hair off his forehead in just the right way, he remembers him mom. Such memories only come when he is far from ShinRa Headquarters. The memories are no longer defined and solid, but more like wisps of who she was. Long full skirts that sounded like a field of long grass when she walked. A smile completely isolated from the rest of her face because that was the part he tended to focus on. And the way she loved Midgar. Though he can't remember a single sentence she had ever uttered, he has a certainty of this fact that must have been built on the words she'd said once.

He opens his eyes to a squint, the bright sun burning his pupils and blurring the blue sky. Turning his head slightly to the side, the sun is replaced by the ShinRa logo. It seems to vibrate through the interference of his lashes. Opening his eyes fully, the ShinRa logo falls onto the backdrop of the magnificent form of the transportation depot building. The building is an architectural masterpiece, a collection of curved walls with a large cantilevered second floor that extends over a courtyard in front of the lobby. He'd built it after the geostigma epidemic ended. It was a project driven by the adrenaline rush of cheating death again.

Now it is the reason Midgar is finally reclaiming its role as a center of trade, reconnected with the great cities of the world with the most efficient transportation hub on the planet.

He comes here when he is trying to realign himself. It's ironic really, because here he feels like another person, looking at his life from the outside in. Wearing a black suit with long, lean lines that make him appear taller than he is, and a black wide-brimmed hat, no one recognizes him. No one ever does when he is in a place like this, as if they could only recognize him in the context of ShinRa Headquarters, surrounded by his Turks. Perhaps he is not a man at all these days. Perhaps he is just a symbol, a power, a force that shapes the world. How poetic that sounds. Maybe he'll have that added to his will to be placed on his tombstone when he dies.

Sitting on one of the empty benches that line the waiting areas around the bus loading stations, he carefully positions himself to lounge casually, back slouched and one arm extended along the bench's back. In front of him there is a bus being loaded, a line of people waiting to board. A woman with a baby, eyes darting back and forth, beautiful but alone. Is there a father? Or is he gone? A man trying to stare at his toes past the bulge of his belly. A couple holding hands, backpacks slung over their shoulders, both looking anxiously at the bus door as they inch toward it. A family—a man, woman, and three children. A girl holds a bright, yellow rubber ball far above the heads of her siblings. She is obviously the alpha. And he marvels that it only takes three children to create a microcosm of world politics.

He comes here to observe the individual lives in the city he considers his. He'd almost died of geostigma once, but it had been a gift. He'd met others with the disease and had realized for the first time that Midgar was made up of _individuals_. To his father it had always been just a general mass to control. He'd been heavy-handed because of that. But Rufus appreciated the intricacies. Always looking at the details. _"Father, why doesn't your office have a trapdoor to escape?"_ or _"Shouldn't we have a kill switch in case the SOLDIERs get out of control?"_. That first suggestion his father had listened to, and it had saved Rufus' life when the Weapon hit the top floors of the old ShinRa building. The second, he had not, and so Rufus had needed his own kill switch.

"Sir, can ya spare some change?"

He glances up at the woman holding out a paper cup. Her clothes aren't the latest fashion, but they look to be in relatively good condition. Shoes on her feet. Face is clean, black hair tied back neatly. Eyes are a little bloodshot, but he can make out the circle of green around the irises, very faint, like a halo. Mako addict. She can't be more than thirty, skin lacking the vibrancy of youth but also the wrinkles of age. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a few coins and drops them into her cup.

"Thank ya!" she exclaims, smiling with too-thin lips.

"Tell me, what do you think of ShinRa Corp?" he indicates the logo on the bus depot building with a flick of his chin.

"Ooooh, you sure ask a loaded question Mistah. Ah've heard many a complaint on that score-ah have." Her accent is distinctively from the sector 5 lower plate—back when it had a plate.

"Everyone has an opinion." His words are calm, but behind them, he has the feeling he is handing her a knife.

"Well, ah suppose ShinRa's tha reason this city is getting back on its feet, but some folks say it woulda nevah suffered so much at all if ShinRa hadn't been around. All ah can say is that us poor folk nevah got anything from it. 'Suppose rich folk love ShinRa though. I hear the young ladies going on 'bout that young President. He looks handsome enough, but I 'spect he's pretty powah hungry."

"It must weigh on him though—the responsibility of all that power. He couldn't rebuild the city without it."

"Everyone's got fans ah suppose. But let 'im live on tha streets for a day and see how long he lasts." She laughs then, a high-pitched giggle. Shaking her head, she raises her cup to him and shuffles away.

Letting out a slow, long breath, he takes a finger and runs it along the brim of his hat, lowering it over his eyes slightly. He'll see that money he gave her again eventually. He controls most of the mako trade in the city. Mako derivatives had been around long before Meteor had ever been a threat, and in the aftermath of the near destruction of the world they became an easy escape route for those unable to cope with their altered lives. Back when the crime syndicates controlled its flow, violence was much higher. But now that he controls it, he can keep things in check. He has one massive carrot with which to pull people where they need to go to make Midgar great again.

Once, he'd thought of spending more time helping individuals. During the geostigma outbreak, he'd sent his Turks to do what they could for people. But then he'd almost died at the hands of the Remnants and he'd realized—he was wasting his time. He is Rufus ShinRa. He doesn't have time to hand a starving old lady a bowl of soup. He is the only one with the power to heal Midgar from its mortal wounds.

And so he doesn't have time to be an individual man. He needs to be a Corporation.

That's right. That's why he likes to come here. It reminds him of that.

Glancing at his watch, he realizes it is almost time for his meeting. He stands like a man waking from sleep, stretching his arms to either side, and heads toward the transportation hub exit.

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

"I hear you're having a shindig at your place tonight."

He is several blocks from the transportation hub, standing at the bus depot they'd agreed to meet at. The large man who has just taken up the spot next to him is wearing a tattered green hoody with the faded words "Costa Del Sol" on it. The hood is drawn up, but Rufus can see the bright red of a beard and the end of a cigarette past the edges of the fabric.

"And?"

"I noticed I wasn't invited," the gruff voice responds.

Rufus glances up at the shiny blue bus sign on a post with a series of numbers and letters that designate the bus route. "I wasn't the one handing out the invitations."

"Fair enough. Our deal still stands then?"

"Can you deliver?"

"50-50 chance. But we don't have a large window to try. The technique Hojo perfected for sealing up the alterations in the cells only works when the cells aren't too used to relying on those alterations. The kid's been using his new-found powers pretty heavy-duty to help those crazy SOLDIERs and his crazy pseudo-father. That gives us less time."

"I need something definitive." Rufus glances down the street, the concrete sparkling in the bright sun. Several cars wait at a stoplight on the next block.

"I can't give you that," the man says, shrugging. Rufus still can't see his face, but he can imagine the careless expression it wears. "It could be too late already. There's no precedent for this. We always used the procedure directly after our experiments."

"Then what am I paying you for?"

A long puff of smoke wafts in the air. The man pauses to drop his cigarette to the ground and scuff it out with a black boot. "My winning personality?"

"Obviously not," Rufus responds sourly. Rows of houses line the streets here, pressed up together wall-to-wall. Brightly colored doors and faux stone facades distinguish them as belonging to the more privileged class, people who can afford to keep up with the recent fashion trends of bright colors and natural elements in decorating.

"Look, we can wrap this up real quick if you want. The SOLDIERs are still sedated for now, so poison is an easy out, but they may not be for long."

"They're going to wake them?" Of course they are, with their unrealistic idealism. It's only natural that they'll assume they can fix them.

"The boy gives them hope. They are already planning to wake up one this afternoon. They think they can do anything with that kid. Even fix 'em mess-ups."

"What do you think?"

A short pause, then, "I think when you have a pet that's in pain and terminally ill, you put it to sleep to spare its suffering." Minimal inflection makes the statement sound absolute.

Rufus finally looks at the hooded figure, studying the profile briefly. A ruthless man with no care for anything but mad science and money. He's yet to see another side to him. "I see why you were one of Hojo's favorite assistants. Come to my office late tonight, at 11pm, after this meeting that Cloud and Tifa have called is done. I'll tell you how to proceed then."

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

He can end it. End it all. All he has to do is give Jenkins the green light at 11pm. One word and the SOLDIERs die, quietly in their sleep. One word and Denzel is just a normal boy again—well, maybe. And if not? If it's too late for the boy's power to be locked away again? He can't afford to leave loose ends. He won't risk another megalomaniac Jenova-derivative.

And what about Cloud? Cloud should have been a risk too. Cloud, who had Jenova cells in abundance from Hojo's experimentation. Cloud, who could have joined the Remnants but didn't. Elena had asked him once what made Cloud different. He'd told her nothing did, because that's what the answer should have been. But it hadn't held true… even after Cloud's recent dose of mako, he hadn't lost his mind and joined the SOLDIERs in their crusade. He'd stayed true to his purpose.

Stepping into the shadow of ShinRa Headquarters, he stops for a moment to compose himself, looking up toward the hazy black sky, aware that they are watching him from the windows of the ShinRa lobby. Tseng had been the one to come this morning and request this meeting. He had been firm and resolute, but not too firm and resolute to ask Rufus how he was recovering.

To that Rufus had smiled and said he was recovering just fine, conscious of the fact that he would never walk without a limp again.

His breath finally catches up with him. He is still weak from his injuries but he can't let that show. Taking controlled steps that are as smooth as he can manage, he crosses the street and opens the lobby door, analyzing the faded forms of its occupants through the glass as he does.

They are all there, strewn about in clusters. The Turks are on the left, all standing except for Reno who is spread out casually across the red couch. Ren sits stiffly in a chair. Tifa is standing to the right shifting her weight from foot to foot. Cloud is next to her, leaning against the wall, sword noticeably absent. Is he leaning for the effect of casual confidence? Or is he too feeble to support his own weight? It is clear the recent events have taken their toll. In the bright fluorescent light of the room, he looks thin and tired.

One more figure emerges from the corner of the room. It is a man in a long brown cloak with a scar on his cheek, pale skin, and eyes that glow aquamarine. He walks with slow, lumbering steps to a spot between Ren and Tifa and lowers himself so that he crouches there, arms crossed over his knees, looking up at Rufus with a granite-hard expression.

Bravo. What a practiced display of intimidation. Rufus wonders if he should be taking notes.

So that's the SOLDIER they chose to wake first. That man had been willing to slaughter them for no real reason, crazy enough to want to avenge the empire of Rufus' father years after its demise. All that could be forgiven so easily? They are so trusting… and it reminds Rufus of why he must keep such drastic measures at his disposal.

Choosing his words and tone carefully, he says, "The SOLDIERs are awake?"

"Just Sevi," Ren replies quietly, glancing at the man briefly. "The SOLDIERs should be represented here as well."

A bitter laugh from the left side of the room. "Welcome to the party," says Reno, spinning his electric nightstick casually over his fingers. Meeting Reno's eyes, Rufus is struck by the depth there. A silent acknowledgement of shared experiences passes between them and he knows that Reno understands the danger of this situation. They need to be careful. Waking up the SOLDIERs is absolutely irresponsible.

He briefly checks the expressions of the other Turks to ensure they are all on the same page—to know if their alliance still stands. He has been somewhat hard on his Turks at times. He's done it because he needs them to be hard. There will be many more difficult days to come as they continue to rebuild. He doesn't let a flicker of softness mar his diamond-cut expression, but that silent acknowledgement of support from Reno leaves him calmer inside. He'd felt the same when Tseng came earlier.

"So, where do we begin?" Rufus asks.

There is a moment of confusion, as looks are exchanged and people who aren't used to silently communicating with each other try to silently communicate. Ultimately, it is Ren who breaks the awkward pause. "We have questions about what your involvement in all this was." Ren is tapping his knee nervously.

"I have nothing to hide," Rufus replies with a smile that he taints with just a touch of cynicism. Then adds, "Now, anyway."

"You ordered the SOLDIERs to attack the mako mines. Why?" It is Cloud's voice, even and strong, if not slightly strained. He hadn't even told the Turks that bit. Cloud must have found out from the SOLDIERs. The Turks thought those had been rebel attacks.

Walking over to the large oval reception desk in the center of the room, now vacant, and leaning against its edge, he responds, "To control supply. A balance of how much mako is harvested must be reached, or we'll overwhelm the planet. Also, I needed to keep the SOLDIERs busy. They were getting restless and dangerous, so I told them to ensure production was cut." That wasn't completely true, but it was close enough.

Tifa has stopped shifting her weight and is balanced on a wide stance that stretches her mini-skirt around the curve of her hips. It is easy to note the strong muscles of her legs. Cloud still hasn't moved, but is watching warily with the eyes of a predator.

And that SOLDIER… he is absolutely still, like a statue. Eyes glassy and far away.

"How long have you known about the SOLDIERs?" Cloud finally asks.

"Quite a while now. About three years ago there were some murders in the mako belt. Rather gruesome murders. When I investigated, I heard stories of men with glowing eyes yielding monster swords. The description fit. They were stealing mako from the dealers so that's what I used to lore them out. Once I started supplying them, the killings stopped."

"You knew for that long?" Tifa questions.

"Didn't you?" Rufus replies, genuinely surprised. "Don't tell me Cloud never encountered them on his journeys. Ren did."

Cloud shifts his weight and nods a quick assent. "What were you planning to do with them?"

"At first I thought I might be able to use them. They were loyal to ShinRa after all. But then I realized their minds were too far gone. They were erratic, violent, and dangerous. I started thinking about how to best deal with them."

Interrupting the flow of Rufus' words, Ren interjects, "So you were supplying me with mako so I would build the army you needed to destroy the SOLDIERs." It's not a question, and Rufus is glad Ren is intelligent enough to see the facts line up.

"I didn't have the forces to fight them myself, so when I heard what you were planning it seemed to be the perfect opportunity" Rufus continues, "and I didn't know how many SOLDIERs there were or where they all were to make sure something like a poison would spread to all of them. When I did finally try that, it was because I had exhausted all options. I was out of time. The stakes rose tenfold when Denzel's powers were released. Denzel was far too dangerous to risk him allying with the SOLDIERs." A pause. He purposely looks at Sevi and braces himself for the next part, "That's why I poisoned the mako I gave you." He needs them to see how dangerous these men are.

Sevi takes the bate. Glassy eyes suddenly sharpen into acute awareness. "You killed my friend," Sevi snarls, his upper lip curling to show the yellow of his teeth.

Rufus meets the wild eyes evenly. He must play this carefully. Without flinching, he responds, "You were a threat to my city—the city you are supposed to protect."

"We didn't want to hurt anyone. We just… needed mako!"

"But you _did_ hurt people, didn't you? And you would have hurt more. You slaughtered people."

"And _you_ slaughtered my friend," Sevi growls. In a flash of brown fabric and skin, Rufus feels Sevi's arm against his throat at the same time he is registering the visual of his movement. The large SOLDIER pushes him back, throwing him against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the lobby. His head makes a loud "thud" and he feels the warmth of blood. Staring into the eyes that flick back and forth erratically, Rufus gasps for breath through his restricted windpipe, but there is nothing. Feeling lightheaded, he waits for deliverance.

"Boss!"

"Sir!"

Sevi arches his back suddenly, his arm releasing its hold on Rufus' throat, and drops to his knees. Reno is pressing his electric nightstick into the SOLDIER's back at the base of the spine, but Rufus sees the expression of rage only an instant before the SOLDIER turns to attack—much too late to shout a warning. Reno is lifted in the air and thrown to the ground with a yell that is animal. Rude is there to slam into the SOLDIER's side a moment later, preventing any follow-up attack. And then Tseng and Elena are on him—Elena with a gun pointed to the SOLDIER's head and Tseng with a dagger pointed at his throat. The SOLDIER kneels on the ground where he had fallen from Rude's impact. Every muscle is tensed and it is clear the man is not ready to give up.

With inhumane agility, he flies into the air, somersaulting over the shocked faces of Elena and Tseng before they can redirect their weapons. He lands in front of Rufus and Rufus thinks that perhaps he had miscalculated. Perhaps provoking Sevi wasn't the wisest course of action after all. He reaches under his jacket for the gun hidden in a holster attached to his belt.

The SOLDIER shifts his weight to dive at Rufus again. And stops. Because that is when Cloud steps in between them. "Sevi. Stop this."

Sevi stares intently at Cloud with lowered brows. "He killed my friend."

"But killing him won't change that. You can't just… kill people like this."

"Even a traitor? He's betrayed the ShinRa I am loyal to. You've betrayed the ShinRa I am loyal to as well."

"Think Sevi. That was the past. That's gone now. Think where you are. When you are. You aren't a ShinRa SOLDIER anymore. You have a daughter and she needs you to be her father."

Something suddenly drains out of Sevi's expression, like sediments of metal settling out of a liquid. "Acadia."

"Yes."

"She's alive."

"Yes."

"A little girl?"

"No, Sevi. A teenager now. Put the pieces together."

Sevi's gaze drops, eyes glazing again, as he shrinks into himself. Not unlike a child. And Rufus considers, not unlike himself in the days when his father used to ruthlessly corner him in an argument. "I missed so much of her life," Sevi says very quietly. "She was the one I needed to protect and I wasn't there. I didn't know. I didn't know."

Cloud puts a hand on Sevi's shoulder and says, "That's why you need to be there for her now."

Sevi nods and steps backward until he is a safe distance away from Rufus. What did he just witness? How had Cloud reasoned with the man so easily? "You knew what to say."

"We've been in each others' minds," Cloud says quietly, turning halfway so that he can look at Rufus. He eyes the gun still in Rufus' hand warily.

The psychic link. Of course.

Straightening the twisted jacket of his suit and the collar of his expensive white shirt, Rufus says, "You know those men are dangerous. Do you really want an army of Sephiroths on the loose?"

"That won't happen."

"Why?"

"We won't let it." But Rufus catches just the slightest hesitation in Cloud's voice. Maybe Cloud isn't completely blind to the danger. And that's when Rufus notices Cloud is gripping the pockets of his cargo pants in an odd way. His hands are shaking violently, even clutching the fabric as they are, it's impossible to hide. Withdrawal.

Purposefully letting his gaze linger on Cloud's hands before meeting his eyes, Rufus says, "Ah, I see. You always have Denzel, who can kill a person with his mind."

"But he wouldn't!" Tifa shouts defensively.

"Children decide not to follow in their parents' footsteps all the time. What if, one day, he chooses to follow a path you don't approve of, and no one can stop him? Perhaps he will go into the Lifestream and put _you_ to sleep."

In a low, barely-audible tone that demands attention, Cloud says, "You did this to him. Now he has to live with it. And you will have to live with someone having more power than you."

Leave it to Cloud to shock everyone with a statement like that—because everyone knows it's the truth, even Rufus. But it's only part of the truth, because it isn't just Rufus that has to live with it, it's the world.

But he has a way to eliminate the threat. Just one decision and his trump card will be played.

"What will you do with the SODLIERs?" Rufus asks. Sevi has backed himself into the corner and is staring distantly.

Ren speaks up now, clearing his throat first. "They'll stay at HHI. I am making HHI into a sanctuary for those recovering from mako addiction."

"That's noble," Rufus says, and he means it, though he knows he sounds sarcastic when he says it.

"We are going to build a better world, with or without your help."

Laughing, Rufus is struck by the irony of all this. Isn't he the one doing the rebuilding here? "And how am I to help?" he finally manages. He notices a crooked smile on Reno's lips and even a twitch of Rude's cheek. Tseng and Elena are both expressionless.

Ren is silent.

"Money?"

"Help us clean up the streets and get addicts to come for rehab. Stop selling mako."

"And then give you money?"

"It wouldn't hurt," Ren relents.

Of course, he won't stop selling mako. He isn't naïve. Mako isn't going to just disappear. If he doesn't control the market, someone else will. The crime syndicates will become powerful again and he will lose his ability to manipulate this city into doing what is best for its own improvement. He won't waste time negotiating with street gangs. That isn't why he is still alive.

Nodding, Rufus smiles. "Okay. Philanthropy is good for public image."

"Is that the only reason you would do it?" Ren adjusts the watch on his wrist as he speaks, hands going to the sleeves of his shirt next to adjust the cuffs.

"No," Rufus replies. He resists the urge to glance at Tseng. Tseng who is a recovering addict. Tseng who will be loyal to him indefinitely if he supports such a cause.

Finally, roused from his daydream, Sevi focuses his deep-set eyes on Rufus. "I do not trust you."

"And I don't trust you."

"I would like to kill you."

"Understandable."

"But I have to be something different than what I was. I have a family. The others are my brothers. I have a daughter. We were driven by impulse for a long time, but that time is over."

"You are choosing to be sane men," Tseng says. The dagger is gone, back in its hidden sheath.

Sevi's features lift. "Yes."

Nodding, Tseng gives the other man a tight smile. "I understand."

The words hang in the air until the silence becomes awkward.

Finally Cloud says, "I think it's time to go."

Rufus nods in agreement and all but the Turks file out the front door, Tifa glaring at him as she goes.

When they are gone, he lets a long breath ease out of his lungs and walks over to the couch dropping himself into it heavily. "Well, that was fun," he says. He brings a hand to the back of his head and feels the matted, wet hair there.

Reno snickers. Rude shakes his head. There is a long red mark along the side of Reno's face from when Sevi threw him. It is already starting to turn purple and bruise.

Almost whistfully, Tseng says, "We recruited those SOLDIERs." He is staring through the glass doors at the figures crossing the street. "Can they be rehabilitated?"

"It's hard to say," Rufus replies, being as honest as he can be. "I doubt they've even been able to wean Sevi off of it yet. He would have been suffering obvious withdrawal if they had. Those SOLDIERs have had far more mako put in their systems than you ever had, Tseng. We always cut off mako injections when a SOLDIER retired. There was a detox period when they went through the stages of withdrawal, and then we were careful to keep them clean, even as the effects of poisoning became more and more noticeable. Many of them ended up as addicts getting drugs on the street, but what they got on the street was never as pure as what we gave them."

"Ren will work hard to try," Elena says. "He's very passionate."

"Yes, I believe he is." But can he do it? Rufus is doubtful.

"Hey Boss," Reno says, dropping lazily into the chair that Ren had occupied before. "I have a question… If you ordered the SOLDIERs to attack the mako mines, why did one of yours get hit?"

Rufus smiles. "Barret was asking a lot of questions. He's been trying to bring down the mines for a while. He was starting to suspect that I was the one behind the mine attack. He thought I was trying to kill competition."

"And you were," states Tseng.

Rufus turns to him, studying the steely blue eyes. What is going on in Tseng's head? "Yes. Those other mines were being run by a crime syndicate that has been recently gaining some power. Believe me, they are not the men you want controlling mako supplies. Not all mako ends up in the form of a drug. You know its medical uses. And it is still used for energy in some places because the truth is, we haven't found anything more efficient. I ordered the SOLDIERs to attack one of my mines to throw Barret off. I didn't want him figuring things out before I'd had a chance to deal with the SOLDIERs."

Tseng is still staring silently out the glass doors when Elena speaks up. "Sir, we need to talk to you about something." She looks up at Tseng, as if asking for his approval. Tearing his eyes away from the windows, he glances down at her and nods.

"Tseng and I have decided that we would like to know the details of our assignments beforehand… so that we can decide if we can accept them."

Instead of replying, Rufus directs his gaze to Tseng, willing the man to speak.

"I would like to help Ren, where I can. His cause is something I believe in. I may not always be able to do what you ask if it's a conflict of interests, and I will not take an assignment if I cannot commit to it fully."

"Ah Tseng, so you've developed a moral compass?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, as long as I don't give you any conflicts of interests to worry about, this shouldn't be an issue, correct?"

"Yes Sir."

"What about you Reno? Rude?"

Looking briefly at his partner first, Reno answers, "No issues here, Boss."

Wearily, Rufus nods. It's enough for now. "Then I'm going to bed." Rising, and meeting the eyes of each Turk in turn, he turns and heads toward the elevators.

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

He can end it all with a word. But what would be the consequences? Cloud would come after him, of that he feels sure. He'd seen the way Cloud had stepped in, the responsibility Cloud seemed to feel toward Sevi. And he'd seen the way Sevi responded. In a few sentences, Cloud had displayed more control over Sevi than Rufus had ever had. And what had been the key? The man's daughter.

But what if the other SOLDIERs didn't have such sentimental ties?

And then there were Tseng and Elena. There was no missing that Tseng felt a connection with the SOLDIERs because of their shared addiction. And Elena would go wherever Tseng went. If he had the SOLDIERs killed, he might actually lose their loyalty.

Will he give up half his Turks for the security of having the SOLDIERs eliminated?

Maybe there is middle ground…

He is in his office, sitting in the black leather chair with his elbows on the ornate wood desk and his chin resting in his palms. He taps his lips with his fingertips, turning over the options in his mind. His eyes are directed toward the security monitors on one wall, the panel that normally hides them tucked away. It is almost subconscious when he reaches over to the remote sitting on his desk to press the button that will unlock the lobby door a moment before Jenkins reaches for the handle. He watches as the man trudges toward the elevators and presses the "up" button. Inside the elevator, the security camera looks down from above, and Rufus stares at the bald spot just starting to show through the unruly red hair.

Finally, there is a knock on the office door, which Jenkins opens without waiting for Rufus to respond.

Rufus is already sitting up straight with his hands folded in front of him and a practiced expression of authority on his face. "Hello Jenkins."

Jenkins swaggers into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He comes forward and places one palm on Rufus' desk, pulling a small bottle out of the pocket out of his baggy black jeans and placing it down with the other. The bottle is red and has a skull and crossbones on it. Rufus almost laughs.

"Do ya know what this is?" Jenkins asks menacingly.

"Hmm… let me guess… poison?"

Putting his hands on his hips and stepping back, Jenkins chuckles. "Course not! You think I'm stupid enough to hide poison in a bottle like that? Just a little joke to break the ice."

Rufus sighs. It is unfortunate that Jenkins is the foremost mako expert on the planet. He would never deal with this man otherwise.

"Consider the ice broken," Rufus replies coldly.

"You got it, Mr. President." Jenkins grins and winks. "So what's the verdict?"

"What kind of ongoing treatment do you expect to give the SOLDIERs?"

"If they're dead?"

"If they're alive." He doesn't feel particularly patient.

"Anti-toxins and such. Same as I'm using on Tseng."

"For how long?"

"Depends on how bad the withdrawal symptoms are."

"You'll do it indefinitely for the SOLDIERs. And you'll keep poison on hand. If the SOLDIERs look like they are about to become a threat again, we'll hide the poison in their anti-withdrawal medication."

"And the kid?"

"Recommend the same treatments for Denzel."

Jenkins takes the bottle from the desk and pushes it back into his pocket. He pulls a package of cigarettes out of the inside of his black jacket, takes one and sticks it in his mouth. He doesn't light it. For several seconds he regards Rufus curiously before saying, "I wouldn't have pegged you for being soft."

"I'll pay you, of course," Rufus adds, feeling very tired.

"Of course." Jenkins replies.

"Jenkins."

"Yeah?"

"Cross me and I promise you, you will _not_ think me soft."

Jenkins stares at him a moment longer and shrugs. "You keep paying me and I don't care if you're a fluffy teddy bear." Then he turns and leaves the room.

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

When Rufus is alone again, he stares out the glass windows of his office at the surrounding city. Midgar is his home. His name is stamped on every building and in the track marks of every junkie. He wonders if anyone really understands that. The Turks might.

Swiveling in his chair, he reaches under his desk to press a button that releases a hidden compartment that drops down just above his lap. Inside is a padded case with several green vials. After his recent fall out of the helicopter that Denzel had helped destroy, his doctor had used mako to keep him alive while blood had poured out of an internal wound. Without it, he probably would have died. That was over a month ago now. After that, he'd had a choice. He certainly didn't need to keep taking mako.

But sometimes, on carefully planned rare occasions, he wanted to know what it felt like to be like them. To allow himself to be flawed. To not be Rufus ShinRa.

Will Ren be able to rehabilitate the mako addicts? If he does, Rufus won't be sorry. He'd rather have a city of productive citizens than one riddled with addiction. He can always find other ways to maintain control. If he is honest, he actually hopes Ren succeeds, even if he doesn't believe it can happen.

Taking one vial out and carefully inserting it into a syringe, he presses the needle into his hip where no one will ever see the track mark.

The word "Lifesblood" drips over his lips in the empty room, spoken to no one. He is alone. Because he is not a man. He is a Corporation.

He twists to look at the blurring outlines of the Midgar skyline. But he does love this city. Just like his mom did.

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

_End Chapter 18_

_End "Family Portrait"_

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

_*7*7*7*7*7*7*7*_

_A/N: _

_Hello Readers! So, here we are. At the end. Finally. This is the last chapter of this story. I hope you all enjoyed it. I appreciate the reviews and hope more of you will give me feedback (Please!). I put a lot of effort into these chapters and would really love to hear what worked and what didn't. Thanks again for sticking with me for so long during my multiple hiatuses from writing._

_It took me a while to figure out how to end this story. Rufus seemed fitting to be the last character I explored because he contrasts so well with so many of the other characters. I find him rather tragic really. Where Cloud has family to ground him, Rufus can't allow himself to be so close to people. Even the Turks always seemed to be kept at arm's length. Growing up with the father he did, I imagine he would believe that close human relationships are not compatible with power. Hence, Cloud has the support he needs to fight addiction and Rufus ends up toying with it to deal with a loneliness he can't even acknowledge._

_Just a side note… I tried to make this story fit the best I could with the __On The Way to A Smile__ novellas, since they are part of cannon. However, some of the novellas in that series weren't released until after I started working on this story. I think for the most part, this story fits with them anyway, but I thought I would mention it in case someone notices something that doesn't really fit with those stories._


End file.
